


Swan Song ('til Death Do Us Part)

by primamagnus



Series: Breaker of Beams [3]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Dark Tower - Stephen King, IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, Biblical References, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Developing Relationship, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Eldritch, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, False Identity, Fix-It of Sorts, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Inappropriate Behavior, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, Moral Dilemmas, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophetic Visions, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Horror, References to Illness, Slow Build, Stephen King References, To Be Edited, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primamagnus/pseuds/primamagnus
Summary: "One chance," the Other whispers - their voice a thundering chorus of sounds.It shrinks back in their presence, its 'gaze' flickering to The Turtle (who no longer seemed smug to It, but understanding) for reassurance. It felt the judgement of this higher force, and if it hadn't been dead moments before, it would've taken great pleasure in mocking these two. But now It had no words - for the first time, the Eater of Worlds was speechless.The Other makes a noise akin to snort, amused by It's deflated ego."One chance," they repeat. "Make the most of it."
Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Reader, Robert "Bob" Gray/Reader, Undisclosed Relationship(s)
Series: Breaker of Beams [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499624
Comments: 145
Kudos: 177





	1. Derry I: The Familiar Faces of Old Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final installment of the Breaker of Beams series: _Swan Song ('til Death Do Us Part)._
> 
> This one follows the narrative of the IT novel more closely, but still obtains the character interpretations from the IT (Muschietti) films. As per usual to this being a Stephen King-based work, there will be heavy references/crossovers to his other works. The main crossover will be with the TV series known as _Castle Rock._
> 
> Additional warnings/tags will be mentioned at the beginning of any chapter that I see requires one.
> 
>  **Additional Info:**  
>  Please do not repost/translate this work on any other website without my permission.
> 
>  _Swan Song ('til Death Do Us Part),_ and other installments from the Breaker of Beams series, are to only be posted under my user ( **primamagnus** ) on Archive of Our Own exclusively. This is a non-commercial fanfiction, and is not intended to represent any real people. All characters and source material belong to their rightful owners, and I do not claim any ownership over any of them except for my own characters.
> 
> This story was written without a beta reader, so please excuse me if there are any grammatical/spelling errors.
> 
> Reader is AFAB and heavily feminine, but is referred to with gender-neutral pronouns.
> 
> CHAPTER I: DERRY I [Ch. 1-4]  
> INTERLUDE: CASTLE ROCK I [Ch. 5-6]  
> CHAPTER II: DERRY II [Ch. 7-]  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It suits you,” he says, cautiously. “Like royalty.”_

## I

* * *

_Put your white tennis shoes on and follow me_  
 _Why work so hard when you could just be free?_  
\- Lana Del Rey, "Swan Song"

* * *

  
**Derry, Maine**  
 _August 5th, 2017_

Rolling thunder rouses you from darkness.

You roll over your on your side, letting out a heavy sigh as your eyes shift through the darkness. Your hand reaches past the covers that wrap around your body, reaching for your phone - that you always left on your nightstand - to check the time. The brightness prompts you to squint, your eyes adjusting to the light. The time read  8:43 a.m.,  which was your sign to roll back into bed to catch a few more winks of rest.

Outside, the rain continues to pour; lightning provides brief comfort.

And then, someone’s knocking on your front door.

Letting out another groan, you shrug out of your tight blanket cocoon - slipping on shorts and a shirt. Sure, it was raining and freezing as hell outside, but you preferred the comfort in sleeping in a sports bra and underwear. Besides, the blankets made up for whatever contact you lacked. Running a hand over your face, your eyes briefly glanced over at the glass enclosure near your desk, before turning away with disinterest.

One by one, you flick on the lights of your two-story, feeling slight annoyance when you hear frantic knocks on the door again.  _ It’s a Saturday, nearly nine in the morning, and someone’s knocking on my door...but who?  _ you questioned; though, you already had your answer.

Past the closed shutters beside the door, you watch as a small silhouette bounds happily on the balls of their feet. Despite your annoyance and exhaustion, you can’t help but smile and feel comfort rise in your chest. Upon opening the door, your suspicions are confirmed and you’re met with a boy wearing a bright yellow rain slicker, and a wide smile. You cross your arms, furrowing your brows despite the fact that you were grinning.

This boy was none other than George Denbrough, Georgie to his friends.

You, being his parents’ newest neighbor, were given that sentiment. Since he was seven and had plenty of free-time, you often saw him outside with his friends (though, sadly, he didn’t have much except for three other boys and his elder brother) when you were taking care of your garden.

Being friendly with Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough had led you to becoming Georgie’s pseudo-caretaker.

Since both parents worked long hours, and their son was often out with his friends, you were given the opportunity to watch over him. It wasn’t so bad though, considering the fact that you worked at home, and Georgie was always the best company there could be. To top it off, the Denbroughs did pay you (bi-weekly in large amounts) for your work. Being twenty-two (turning twenty-three in December), and fresh out of UNI, you took any chance at earning cash.

“Georgie?” you ask, tilting your head. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry!” he apologizes profusely, fiddling with his fingers. “I was just... _ wondering  _ if you can,” He paused when the tell-tale rumble of thunder startles him, leaving him caught off mid-sentence. He doesn’t need to finish though, because you already know what he wants.

“...make you a paper boat?” you finish for him.

“Yes, please! Billy says he’s sick, and didn’t want to make one.”

Feeling bad that he came to your house just for a paper boat made you feel bad, so you allowed him to enter your home, stepping aside. “Come in,” you order softly. “It’s cold outside and I don’t want you getting sick from waiting in the rain. You can wait in the living room while I get the things. You can help yourself in the kitchen for some cookies I made yesterday. They’re in the fridge.”

Georgie’s reply is quick with a cheerful, “Okay!”

And with that, you’re passing the kitchen and down the hallway, stopping in front of a table - pulling the drawers open. Old pens and markers inside rolled from the sudden movement, an old drawing notebook collecting dust catches your eye. Making sure that nothing important was in it, you tear a page from the back and grab a tin of paraffin wax from one of the pantries near the stairs. You would’ve gone down to the basement to get your stored art supplies (which haven’t been touched in years), but you didn’t bother.

The basement had always terrified you, even if it was near spotless and organized, the broken light down there and the wetness of the room...you were more than adamant on avoiding the basement at all costs. Funny, out of all of the things that you had been through in your life, a  _ basement  _ scared you more than the things you’ve endured.

You didn’t linger on the subject any longer, plopping next to Georgie on the couch while you set down your things on the table. The wax you had heated up was still hot, but it wouldn’t be long until it cooled off - so you had to make the boat as soon as possible. As expected, Georgie was munching on some chocolate chip cookies and downed a glass of milk - having been watched over by you, he remembered where everything was in your home.

Putting on a smile on your face, feeling the muscles ache and strain from doing it so much, you avert your gaze to Georgie; holding the TV remote to him. “Did you want to watch cartoons?” you ask, already knowing what his answer was. Still, you liked asking Georgie for what he wanted, and taking his wants and needs into consideration taught him to do the same.

He nods, his voice muffled by the cookies in his mouth and takes the remote from with in his hands, turning on the TV with the simple press of a button. Since you didn’t use your television much  _ (Truth be told, you never wanted a TV, but it was a gift from your uncle, so you couldn’t object.),  _ it was automatically saved to the children’s channel that Georgie always loved. While he watched the morning Saturday cartoons, you quickly went back to your task at hand: making a paper boat. While you were doing this, Georgie began to happily talk about his day; even though you had a good sense of what his daily routine was.

“School’s  _ soooo  _ boring!”

“Really, now? Can’t say I disagree, buddy.”

“ - but at least I have Billy, Ava, Eddie! Oh! Do you remember Eddie? He’s Dorsey Corcoran’s brother.”

“Mhm. I remember him. You said that he plays baseball, right?"

Georgie nods eagerly. “Yeah! Yes! That’s him! We play hide and seek a lot at school at recess.”

“So, school’s not all that bad.”

“No, I guess not...but the classrooms smell like piss sometimes - ”

_ “Georgie!”  _ you scold, eyes bulging at his word use.

_ Where the hell did he get that from?  _ you wondered, horrified.

You never swore around him, you’d never allow yourself to do that, so hearing him say that was like a slap in the face. Said boy turned to you sheepishly, tilting his head with wide puppy dog eyes.  _ Oh hell,  _ you groaned internally.

_ He doesn’t even know that it’s a bad word. _

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, his tone fearful.

“No - ” you cut yourself off, letting out a sigh. “Well...Georgie,  _ piss  _ isn’t a word you should use.”

“Wait, it isn’t? But Billy and his friends use it  _ all  _ the time!”

_ Of course he picked it up from his big brother. _

Bill Denbrough, in the few times you had met him, was a quiet boy with a stutter but a heart of gold. Even though he was in eighth grade and turning thirteen soon, he had more leadership skills than the assholes you met at UNI. Other than what you had seen for yourself, you had to use everything you heard from Georgie to build Bill’s character. Still, you might have to talk to the brothers’ parents on how Bill watched his mouth, especially around Georgie.

“No, it’s not,” you explain. “But...I can’t stop you from using it, but please, don’t say it around your parents.”

Georgie frowns. “Will you get in trouble for it?”

“Yeah,” you snort, biting down a humorless giggle. “Really big trouble.”

“Then I won’t say anything!” Georgie claims, holding out his pinky to you. “I pinky promise!”

Indulging in his childish antics, you bring out your own hand to link your pinky with his - reaffirming his ‘promise’. You wouldn’t doubt him now, because Georgie was always so set on keeping all promises that he made. Satisfied, you return back to making the paper boat, using your index finger to coat the paper boat with wax. Georgie, as always, watches curiously as you don’t flinch whenever you dip your finger into the wax - which was still seething hot.

“Doesn’t that kinda hurt?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It doesn’t...I have a high heat threshold.”

“What’s a thresh...threshold?”

“It’s basically how much, my limits, that I can handle something,” you say. “So I can handle a lot of heat.”

“That’s so cool!” Georgie fawned. “You’re like...a superhero!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you laugh.

You were more of an oddity than a superhero in simpler terms.

You finished the boat and quickly scrawled “S. S. Georgie” in cursive penmanship. You handed it to him with a smile, ruffling his hair. “There you go,” you say, laughing. “Don’t be out for too long. You know your mother doesn’t like it when you’re out in the rain for too long.”

Hopping off the couch to slide on his yellow slicker back on, Georgie slides his green galoshes on and makes way for the front door without a second to spare. The cold draft that comes into your home doesn’t bother as much as the worry at the bottom of your heart. Georgie was a smart kid, but for him to always be out and about on his own...it left an uneasy feeling in your gut. He knew to not talk to strangers, but still - Derry, Maine was  _ not  _ a good place. Before he can shut the door, you call out.

“Don’t talk to strangers Georgie!”

“I won’t!” Georgie replies. “Thank you Miss King!”

* * *

The rest of your day is uneventful, and rolls by smoothly.

Georgie drops by every now and then - since the Denbroughs are off of work for the day, they spent their time together in the house - and told you about his day. There was a big of sadness in his eyes that made you frown and question about his behavior. “The boat fell in the sewer drain,” you remembered Georgie explaining to you with a frown.

“I couldn’t keep up with her.”

“That’s alright,” you replied, ruffling his hair. “We can always make more.”

And that’s how found yourself folding an ungodly amount of paper boats with Georgie.

Bill had also tagged along, but since he was “sick” - you could tell that he was faking it; you had done it yourself when you were a kid too - he simply sat on the couch, messing with his phone with headphones in his ears. You wish that he was more open when he was around you, but you couldn’t complain: he was a good kid, judging by what Georgie and his parents had said about him.

You were on the...twentieth(?) boat when Bill said that he and Georgie had to go home. Nodding, you gathered what you and Georgie had made, and neatly packed it in Georgie’s backpack so that he could take it home - since it was still raining, and you didn’t want the boats to be soaked. Having baked more cookies (it was a specialty and hobby of yours), you offered some to the boys. Georgie always accepted them, while Bill was the shyer one, surprisingly, out of the two.

“T-Thanks,” he stammers out, smiling. “I’m really h-h-happy that y-you’re here to watch o-o-over m-my brother.”

“It’s no problem,” you reply. “It’s the least I can do for you guys. If anything, I should thank your parents...getting by in Derry is easy, but when you’re an adult like me - it does get kinda hard,” You shuffle on your feet, watching as rain continued to downpour outside the window. “Tell your parents that I’m grateful that they’re giving me the opportunity to make a living by watching over you guys.”

Bill nods. “I-I-I will...” Just as he’s about to leave with Georgie in hand, he pauses in his step, turning around to look at you curiously. “Y-You lived in the N-N-Neibolt House...right?” he asks, making sure that he didn’t step on a nerve.

You couldn’t blame him, after-all, that’s where your parents had passed... _ murdered,  _ was the word you tried to avoid as much as possible. It was the classic breaking-and-entering crime that ruined your life, as well as the suspect’s (not that you cared for him anyway). Your parents just so happened to be downstairs when it happened. The suspect didn’t get far in the house because the neighbors had called the cops.

You were oblivious to the whole thing, having been asleep upstairs the entire time that it happened. It was a devastating blow in your mind, and even though it happened when you were young - at six-years-old, a year after you moved to Derry - you still found it hard to accept the reality of it all. Thankfully, your uncle Howard had been gracious enough to take care of you, where you moved back with him to Maryland with his wife and two children; your cousins.

Moving back to Derry was both a breath of fresh air, and a stale memory gone cold.

Reigning in yourself from your thoughts you nodded, a grim expression taking hold of your features. “I did,” you confirm, leaning against the door-frame. In the corner of your eye, you watched in amusement as Georgie messed with Bill’s umbrella outside, jumping in puddles. Averting your gaze to meet Bill’s, you continued. “Why...? Did you want to know something?”

“N-No,” he pauses, a cautious look in his eyes. “Did you h-hear th-th-that someone’s m-moving in th-th-there now?”

“Wait, really?” you ask, eyes widening. “Who is it? Do you know?”

“Some r-r-r -  _ rich  _ guy?” Bill says helpfully, though his tone is unsure. “He used to l-l-live on W-West B-Broadway...a R-Robert Gray, I think?”

_ Robert Gray,  _ you mused thoughtfully.

You  _ have  _ heard the name before, but you’ve never met him in person. He, just as Bill had described, was a “rich boy” who was given the chance to go to Harvard University at fourteen  _ (Jesus Christ! You were still in fifth grade and learning about onomatopoeias!).  _ From what you heard from people in Derry, he was described as a really smart and nice; knew what to say and how to act. But then again, just as perfect people were, there was something...off about him.

You only heard from rumors, in the brief time that you were in Derry as a child (and now; having lived here for nearly a year) - that Robert Gray was a bit of a “crazy”...that he was arrogant and spoke highly of himself like he was God, but hey, you couldn’t judge. You’ve never met him, and it was wrong to judge a person off of rumors alone. If he really was good enough to be a Harvard student, then how bad could he be?

“Thank you for telling me this,” you say to Bill, waving him off. “I’ll check out the place when I can.”

_ Social media search, here we go. _

* * *

...It turns out that Robert Gray didn’t use social media.

Which to you - being an owner of several electronics, and being extremely active on one social media platform - was absolutely shocking. He was only what?  _ Four  _ years older than you? And he didn’t even have a  _ Facebook  _ account!

He either had old fashioned beliefs, probably from his parents (whom were both known by the town, even though they passed a few years ago), or just lived under a rock from studying too much. You hoped that it was just the former, because there was no way someone could live today’s age without technology or media. At least, that’s what you thought.

Maybe you were being weird by searching him up, but anyone who dared to move into your childhood home (which was dubbed the “murder house” by a lot of kids and teenagers in Derry), was someone listed as “strange” on your nonexistent list of people you were suspicious of. The Neibolt House, which was refurbished by your parents when they moved here, was beautiful; painted with a shade of French Gray - how ironic, given the new owner’s surname - and had an overgrown garden that gave the Victorian house a vintage vibe.

Once you had fallen too deep in your thoughts, you closed your laptop and distracted yourself with the glass enclosure nearby, a smile reaching your features. With careful hands, you slide the glass lid off and carefully lift the spider out of it, eyes softening. This is Holland, your pet Desert Blonde Tarantula of sixteen years, and you loved her with all of your heart.

She was a rarity to you, with her light legs and body contrasting heavily to her dark abdomen: she was a perfect balance between light and dark. Holland was always docile and compliant whenever you handled her, and her company was great compared to the awful people of Derry (minus the Denbroughs and a handful of other families). You indulge in allowing Holland to wander your bed, snapping a few pictures of her to save as your phone wallpaper before putting her back in, and feeding her.

You found her to be your best friend and companion since childhood.

When the rain gave in, you showered and dressed into a pumpkin brown turtleneck and blue jeans, slipping on sneakers on your feet. Just in case the rain would come back, you threw a hoodie on, and give yourself a once over in the mirror. Although having long hair was a hassle, you enjoyed styling it in different ways - and a simple middle part always did the trick. You glossed over your eyes, which were comparable to dull red diamonds, and grabbed your essentials; leaving the house.

“Morning!” Mrs. Denbrough, Sharon, called your name from her porch, flashing a smile at you.

“Good morning,” you reply. “I’m heading out for the day, but if you need me to watch over the kids, just call me.”

“Alright,” Sharon nods. She looks like she’s ready to head back in the house and call it a day, even though it’s noon and the day - despite the rain - was still young. She continues with an apologetic smile, seeing as though she was taking up your time. “Thank you, by the way. I know you’re young and busy, but Zack and I are always out of the house, and I’m really thankful that you’re putting the time and effort to take care of them. I know Bill can take care of Georgie on his own, but still, sometimes the two alone are...”

“A disaster?” you add helpfully.

“You could say that. Kids are such a hassle to take care of.”

“Can’t say I disagree...I’ve never had any of my own, and Georgie’s a great kid.”

“I think you’d be a great mom,” Sharon comments, nodding.

You take her compliment gingerly, entering your vehicle without another word.

You’d just do a drive-by your old home and continue the rest of your day, nothing special - or maybe, you’d actually  _ meet  _ Robert Gray in person. For someone so successful (you had found only one article about him, regarding his success as a young, aspiring man with “dreams”), it was a strange decision for him to move to the shittiest town in the world...sans Castle Rock, which you had visited from time to time.

Passing through West Broadway and then down Kansas Street, you could feel your hands grow clammy in anticipation - over a million thoughts running through your mind at that moment. None of your thoughts could ease your curiosity, and was a relief to see that the house on 29 Neibolt Street was still standing.

There were several things you noticed as well.

Unsurprisingly, there was a brand new car parked on the side of the road (given that the house was old, there was no garage) and the lawn was given a rework. In addition to the sunflowers that covered the expanse of the lawn, there were some birch trees planted in both the front and backyard. The vines that had overgrown on the side of the house were still though to give the home the sensually ancient appearance, alluring everyone to enter even though it had a grim history. Much to your chagrin, the tire swing that your father tied to the oak tree in the front was no longer there.

Parking your car across from the house, you walked towards the front entrance, pushing the gate out of your way. A heavy breath passed your lips, and you could only do everything but calm down when you rang the newly-installed door-bell. If the new owner of the home wasn’t here, then you would’ve felt like an idiot driving all the way here - but you were hopeful.

After an agonizing five minutes the door opens: revealing the owner.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard to - especially when he towers over you, lowering his frame so that his head doesn’t hit the doorway. He’s casually dressed in a black t-shirt that’s tucked into his jeans: revealing a lean frame. The new watch and designer brands aren’t what surprises you the most. It’s his eyes that do the trick. His eyes are dark brown, so dark that his eyes almost look like wide black holes that take in your appearance - and more. His hair is soft, un-gelled, and casually parted away from his face.

_ Holy shit he’s gorgeous,  _ you think in awe.  _ Really, what the hell is a guy like him doing in Derry, Maine? _

You give him an apologetic smile, trying your best to look like you know what you’re doing. In the presence of this man, you suddenly lose all of your thoughts, and it’s hard to focus when he stares at you in a way that makes you feel so small and important at the same time. “Hi,” you greet softly. “I - Uhm...I used to live here, and I was just uh - ...I wanted t-to uh, I wanted to say welcome back to Derry!”

God, you felt like an idiot but at least you got your words out.

Robert looks, more or less, like a statue: with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth. There’s a lingering doubt that fills the back of your mind, that you said something wrong, and that the new owner of your childhood home thinks that  _ you’re  _ the crazy one here. Robert looks nothing like someone people would spread rumors about, in fact, he looks like he’s well off on his own. When Robert doesn’t reply, still stuck in his silence, you try to fill it in with your voice.

“Are you alright, sir?”  _ Why the fuck am I calling him sir? We’re nearly the same age. _

_...Fuck me, and my manners. _

Your question gets him to finally break through whatever thoughts he had been thinking about. A calm, neutral expression passes his features as his reply comes out cool but with a trembling voice. He almost sounds... _ nervous? _

“It’s you,” he whispers.

“It’s...me?” you question, confused.

“It’s you,” Robert nods slowly.

The way he looks at you is full of longing and something else that you can’t pinpoint down, and the way he inches just a tad bit towards you prompts you to shut off your mannerisms and stay quiet. It’s intimidating and  _ scary  _ in the way that he stares at you - and you now understand why some people had sprouted rumors about him. Before things can grow anymore awkward, you smile again, this time out of nervousness, and tell him that you’ll be on your way now.

You feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“Wait,” he chokes out.

To your surprise, followed by that he also says your first name - which you hadn’t told him yet - which immediately grabs your attention. You turn your head to catch his gaze, a step away from the porch. Robert exits his house, his eyes briefly analyzing the weather before returning his gaze back to you.

If looks could kill, his would kill you out of intensity.

“I just moved here recently,” he explains, “...from Castle Rock after staying there for a year. Do you mind if you can give me a ground tour of Derry? I-I mean...I have lived here before, but I think it’s nice to have someone to guide the way.”

You’re still on edge, but his request sends a rush throughout you.

You’d only known him for a good six minutes and fifty-five seconds, but he’s already asking you on the equivalent of a...meeting? Date?  _ Something else?  _ Still going by the notion that this man might’ve been a bit odd, judging by what you have seen yourself and his choice of housing, you reconsider. Couldn’t he just drive around himself around town? He’s smart, evidently from his educational career, and smartly dressed - obviously, he doesn’t need your help.

Still, you’re too nice for your own good and give in.

“Sure,” you reply nonchalantly, shrugging. “I’m a bit busy though,” you lie, holding up your phone. You want nothing more than to sleep and watch movies, but the way that Robert holds himself makes you want to forget everything and just talk. You trailed off in a happy, optimistic voice - to lift the mood. “...but tomorrow I’m free to do whatever. We can exchange numbers, if you want.”

“Please,” he interjects quickly, bringing out his phone as soon as possible.

Just as expected, his phone is new and you wonder what he did for a living - maybe he just lived off of whatever money his parents had granted him before their deaths. From what you could tell, he survived Harvard via grants and scholarships. You couldn’t relate to that part, sadly (having your uncle help with payments, as well as federal aid), but such things were the way of life. You and Robert exchange numbers, and before you go - you ask for his name just to be polite.

“Robert Gray,” he says with a laugh, taking your hand in his for a hand-shake.

_ Jesus, his hands are large. _

You reply with your name, and it seems as though Robert never noticed that he slipped your name earlier; he nods idly. “King?” he repeats your surname curiously, tilting his head. For some reason, he’s staring directly into your eyes as if he found something extraordinary (or horrifying; the two facial expressions were always interchangeable to you).

“Yeah,” you huffed, “my parents had weird naming habits.”

“It suits you,” he says, cautiously. “Like royalty.”

“So I’ve been told,” you trail off, checking your phone for the time.

Just as you do this, you get a text from Sharon.

> I’m so sorry! Can you watch the kids tomorrow? Zack and I have a family emergency, and we’ll be heading out of Derry for a couple of days! No later than next Saturday. Please? I’ll even pay you double! Thank you! - Shar.

_ Double pay? _

_...Well shit. Sorry Robert, but you can wait. _

“What’s wrong?” Robert asks, prompting you to look back at him.

“Shit,” you apologize. “I can’t go with you tomorrow...I have to watch my neighbor’s kids for the week. Maybe, next time?”

A blank look crosses his face before it fades into one of understanding.

He nods without another word, deep in thought.

Thanking him, you share a few more words before you’re heading towards your car, and driving back home. The remainder of your day is spent watching as the Denbroughs pack their things (though you can’t help but feel that the two adults are preparing for a vacation rather than an emergency), before they’re off.

You grab a few of your things, in addition to Holland, and settle them in the living room of the Denbrough home. You don’t have to worry much about Bill, since he’s often out with his friends, so you leave yourself to amuse and humor Georgie: baking cookies for the rest of the day. Every now and then, you can’t help but think about the man you met earlier in the day.

_ He’s interesting,  _ you conclude.  _ Weird...but interesting. _

* * *

The rest of the week goes by in a blur.

You receive no word from Robert (and you don’t intend to initiate any texts, barely knowing him), which only confirms the notion that he rarely uses his electronic devices - or he’s busy doing other things. Driving to and from Derry Elementary to drop off, and pick up, Georgie is a mundane routine that feels normal,  _ calming,  _ even. Maybe, when you’re older, you’ll even have your own kids and live happy with whomever you found love with one day.

...Nah, screw the pregnancy part.

It wasn’t that you  _ didn’t  _ want children, it was just that you didn’t want to be  _ pregnant;  _ if that made sense. Donors were a thing, but the dissatisfaction of calling another’s child yours was odd, and adoption was great but draining. Georgie and Holland (even if she was a spider) were the closest things you’ll ever have to having kids.

It’s the following Saturday, the 12th, and you’re eagerly awaiting for the Denbroughs to return home. Truth be told, Bill and Georgie were easy to take care of but you were getting tired. Some time to yourself would be nice, and you were starting to feel back sores from sleeping on the couch. True, the Denbroughs did say that you could sleep in the master bedroom (Sharon and her husband’s room), but you didn’t want to intrude too much.

Your attention is grabbed when the front door unlocks and opens - tension rising. Georgie was upstairs and Bill was out with his friends (who called themselves the “Losers Club”), so there wasn’t so much unease as there was surprise. It soon fades when you hear several voices resonate throughout the house, namely that of Derry’s local trashmouth: Richie Tozier. The kid had a mouth on him, but his jokes were funny, and he seemed caring enough for you to tolerate him.

Followed by Bill and Richie are the other two members of the Losers Club: Stanley Uris and Eddie Kaspbrak. You didn’t know much about them so you simply greeted them and offered cookies, being the nice  _ nanny  _ that you were. After that, you return to watching Georgie upstairs, playing “circus” with him.

Georgie had a series of figurines and mini-props that created a small circus, and you found that it made Georgie happy to play with them. He always picked the more athletic and strength-based figurines, like the strongman or the acrobats; while you (unironically) picked the fortune teller and tarot card readers. Every now and then, you could change it up and pick the clown figurine - happily chatting with Georgie.

The kid was so energetic and happy that it nearly made your heart melt.

“I always love playing with you, Miss King!”

“I’m glad that you do...You’re not too bad yourself, Georgie.”

“Hey! What does that mean?”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nothing, kid. Now, what am I doing?”

“Okay, you’re the clown,” Georgie says with a straight face, guiding your hand towards the opened big-top. He hands you the tiniest circus props, three balls with holes in them - presumably where you connect the clown to. He continues his explanation, his eyes focused. “So, you connect the clown into there, and pretend that you’re juggling.”

“I can juggle,” you trail off. “Like, in real life. I can juggle.”

“Really?! You can?!”

Christ, there’s practically stars in his eyes.

_ You’re gonna be the death of me kid,  _ you think humorously.

You nod, getting up on your feet and head towards his toy box, shuffling inside to bring out three plastic balls. “Are you ready?” you ask, a smiling reaching your face. When Georgie nods, you’re about to begin your juggling “act” when one of the boys, Eddie enters the room, a frantic look on his face.

“What is it?” you question.

“It’s uhm, it’s - like a...like there’s a - ”

“Slow down,” you chuckle nervously, holding your arms out to calm him down. “What is it?”

“Uh,” Eddie pauses, inhaler in hand. “Me and the others were just playing outside, right? A-And I don’t know what was going on, because Richie’s an ass and always tells me to tell the adultseventhoughhecandoithimself - ”

“Breathe,” you coax patiently. “Let’s just...calm down and - ”

More footsteps bound up and Richie enters the room, smacking Eddie’s arm playfully. To your surprise, the two enter and endless banter between each other. When the profanity comes out, you drop the plastic balls and cover Georgie’s ears and try to dull his senses with your thoughts - discreetly though, to not raise suspicion in the young boy.

“Hey, did you tell them yet?”

“Wait, well. I was going to but...”

“Ugh, you’re worse than Bill, Eds.”

“Shut the fuck up asshole...and don’t call me Eds!”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want - ”

_ Holy shit,  _ you gape at the two teens.

_ Do they always do this? _

Not even you and your friends were as vocal and foul-mouthed as them, maybe on some occasions, but not as the two boys in front of you. You rarely saw the entirety of the Losers Club, so seeing them interact so...boldly, in front of you was a big surprise to see. Thankfully, Georgie seems unaware of what you’re doing and you have to break the conversation before your head starts pounding. Unfortunately, the movies made having powers look so much easier than it was in real life - and you had to deal with the tiredness from using them. It was one of the reasons why you rarely used your powers, to be honest.

“Please stop!” you yell.

_ That  _ gets them to shut up, and finally you uncover Georgie’s ears and stop blocking his mind. You give the two teenagers a stern look, crossing your arms while trying to make yourself taller. Given your height, that’s easily possible. “Alright,” you start off slowly. “No yelling. Just tell me, straight to the point...What happened?”

Richie’s the one to answer first, practically blurting it out.

“A man tried breaking into your house!”

“What?!” you exclaim.

Not giving a second thought to spare, you’re already leaving the room and out of the house. Bill and Stan are outside, much to your horror  _ (Weren’t they afraid of being kidnapped?),  _ with their phones - ready to call. You glance at your house, seeing nothing broken; and the alarm hadn’t gone off. You turn to Bill for an explanation, arms crossed once more.

“W-W-We saw a man,” Bill stammers, “a-at your h-house...He tried removing your front w-w-window to g-get inside.”

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.

Running towards your home and giving it a once over, nothing looks out of the ordinary and you’re left to wonder where the intruder was. “Did he get inside?” you ask, searching the entire perimeter of the outside. “What did he look like? Where did he go?”

“He was wearing all black, and his face was covered,” Stanley states. “He was tall...when he saw us, he ran down the street and towards West Broadway. I’m sorry that we didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s alright,” you comfort Stan. “You didn’t know.”

“Sh-Should we call the police?”

“Leave that to me,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

A quick police call and brief interrogation from the boys and yourself (though, you hadn’t witnessed the event, it was still your house) leaves you drained and left to clean up the mess. In actuality there was no mess, the intruder left no clues, which left you paranoid for the remainder of the day.  _ This was not how I was expecting my week to go,  _ you think bitterly.

_ What kind of shit luck do I have? _

Thankfully, the boys were forgiving enough to not tell their parents, and when the Denbroughs came home - you merely put on your go-to smile, and told them everything was alright. As always, they believe you and you’re allowed to return back to your home. Hey, at least you got double the pay, and met an attractive man the week prior (who still hadn’t texted you yet).

That night, you slept with all your doors locked and your mind alert.


	2. Derry I: Speed Dating 101, with Robert Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you always try to pick up girls this way?”_

_Do you think we'll be in love forever?  
Do you think we'll be in love?  
_\- Lana Del Rey, “Diet Mountain Dew”

* * *

_ August 16th _

In a strange turn of events, you bumped into Robert at the grocery store.

He didn’t seem to have a lot in his cart, except for two slabs of steak and fresh vegetables. Compared to you (doing your monthly shopping spree), you felt almost embarrassed to have a lot in your cart. Thankfully, it was mostly just baking supplies and perishable items. You knew how to cook, and you loved doing it, but buying the ingredients took a lot of time.

“I almost thought that you died on me,” you joke to Robert playfully.

Robert laughs, but his laugh (as always) sounds nervous.

He shrugs when the laughter dies down, pushing his cart besides yours - even though he’s not grabbing as many items as you. In fact, he looks like he doesn’t even  _ need  _ a cart with how much he has placed in his cart. In the back of your mind, you joked that he only had a cart so that he could walk beside you. That was unlikely though, given that he was idly browsing the aisles for more to grab.

“Sorry,” Robert apologizes. “I just got...busy.”

“Same,” you say, then add, “Someone almost broke into my house.”

“Really?” he asks with wide eyes. “Did...did they catch the guy?”

“No, unfortunately not.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s fine. At least, no one got hurt.”

“Are you free?” he blurts out. “I mean - Are you still up for...?”

“I’m not, sorry,” you give him a sheepish smile. “I’m busy tonight.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m speed dating.”

Robert stops in his tracks suddenly, nearly bumping his cart into the barrel of apples: staring at you dead in the eye. He almost looks  _ offended  _ at your words, his knuckles nearly bone-white with how tight he’s clenching the handles of the cart. You take his reaction more of shock, and let out a laugh - covering your mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re not serious,” he claims.

When you stop giggling to put on a solemn face, you can almost see the point where he lowers his shoulders; slumping in defeat. “You  _ are  _ serious,” he restates, almost... _ pouting?  _ You don’t linger on his reaction any longer, not wanting to waste anymore time at the store. Like you said, you had plans tonight (albeit they were done on a whim), and had to get ready.

To avoid creating any cart traffic - people in Derry were pure road-ragers in that aspect - you continue pushing on, and allow Robert to recover from his initial shock. He doesn’t pry any longer, and you’re thankful for that. Still, he doesn’t leave your side and his actions bring back that unsettling feeling inside of you. He’s like a puppy stuck to your hip, and you’ve only met him twice.

Attractive or not, you were still cautious of him.

Besides, the ring on his ring finger was enough to tell you to back off. It was a beautiful ring: with a yellow (almost amber) gem in the center. To be honest you were quite envious of whoever this man is married to, but didn’t act on it. You were twenty-two - pushing twenty-three soon - and he was twenty-seven, which was a pretty big gap...in your opinion, at least.

“Tell the missus I said hi,” you joke playfully.

Robert has a confused look on his face before it’s replaced with one of pure denial. Instantly, you can see the shock in his eyes at your suggestion. “Wait, do you think I’m - ?” he trails off, raising his hand. “I’m not married...This ring is more of a luck ring, and it keeps people away.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised.

So he  _ wasn’t  _ married. That’s...neat.

“Not interested in marriage?” you ask out of curiosity.

Robert shrugs, eyeing you. “Only if it’s with the one I love the most.”

You hum at his response and head to the check-out aisle, noticing that Robert (who still had the same amount of items as when you bumped into him) did the same. Not many words are exchanged after checking-out, since his car was parked far from - but still relatively close to - yours. The rest of the day is routine, as always, and you’re left to get ready for tonight.

The rainy weather had gone, and you felt like wearing a dress. Snagging a floral sundress from your closet you put it in front of you, making sure that the towel wrapped around your body didn’t wet the dress. How forward did you want to be with this? You had never dated anyone. You’ve never been with anyone like  _ that. _

Heck, you haven’t even had your  _ first kiss. _

To say that you were going in this blind was an understatement.

You were practically going into this blindfolded while stepping hot coals; to you, that’s how clueless you were in dating. “God, I’m miserable,” you mutter to yourself, letting the towel fall so you can change.  _ It was hot to wear lacy stuff, right?  _ you questioned internally.  _ Why should it matter? It’s not like anyone’s going to see... _

You pondered over whether or not you wanted comfort over what else was presented to you. You were a bit shy in that aspect, only having three pairs of lace undergarments - but it was cold outside, and you didn’t want to spend the night sitting in practically see-through underwear.

You shoved the lace articles into the drawer and slip on regular ones, the dress following after. Heading to the bathroom, you spent the remainder of time styling your hair into a half-up, half-down halo braid; curling the ends. Looking fine without it, you didn’t bother putting on make-up - natural looks always mattered to you. Finally, after an agonizing two hours, you were done and ready to leave.

“Okay, you got this...” you say to yourself. “How hard can it be?”

* * *

Alright, so speed dating was a bust, but at least you got the gist of it.

You found it hard to  _ feel  _ a connection for the people you talked to, so most of you time was spent just asking about the weather and other things like that. There was the occasional person who was swayed by your looks - you weren’t a model or actress, but you had been told time and time again that you were “pleasant” to look at - and you quickly shut them down.

You weren’t there to find a hook-up, you were there to find someone you could understand...Movies and your own observations, mainly of the Denbroughs, made relationships seem dreamy and happy. Naturally, you longed for someone who could make you happy; able to live a life-time with you.

It wasn’t on your priority list, but the idea of it was nice.

Since the night was still young, you decided to drive by the  _ Morning Diner,  _ a place where you often loved to go eat. They had the best burgers, in your opinion, and the most refreshing peppermint milkshakes there. Sure, your friends joked about how you were practically eating the taste of toothpaste - but you liked the cool feeling it left in your mouth. That’s how you found yourself, eating alone in a bustling diner, scrolling on your phone without a care in the world.

An old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the diner plays tunes from the 80s, reminding you of a time where you weren’t alive for. You enjoyed being in the comfort of people, hearing conversations and the way people interacted with each other. As an undergraduate with a Bachelor’s in Psychology; watching people was fun, and filled the void in your life.

“Speed dating didn’t work out?”

Startled, you gasp and shuffle in your seat, meeting Robert’s playful gaze. You had been so focused on your phone, and your thoughts, that you didn’t even notice him. Letting out a nervous chuckle, you nod and put your phone in your bag, giving him your full attention. “No,” you admit with a sad sigh, “It didn’t.”

“Ouch,” he flashes you a sympathetic smile. “So, what brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you reply.

“Just came here for a quick bite. I’m too lazy to cook at home.”

“How convenient that you came here at the same time I did,” you joke cheekily. “It was getting so lonely in here.”

“You don’t have to be lonely,” Robert says confidently. “You’ll never be lonely when you’re with me.”

His words are both charming and cheesy - and you love it. You wondered what good deed you had done to be blessed in his presence, especially with how nice he’s being to you. He was the best company you had in awhile, and to be honest, you were starting to warm up to him. The implication of his words does make your cheeks flush slightly.

_ Was he flirting with me? _

Unsure how to respond, you timidly nod and return your attention back to your food.  _ Talk about awkward,  _ you huffed internally.  _ I can’t even hold a conversation. Robert’s going to be dust by the time I come up with a response. _

Thankfully, Robert helps you in that department.

“How long have you lived here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Moved to Derry from New Hampshire when I was five...moved with my uncle a year later,” you paused, taking in his reaction. “I came back a year ago after I graduated.”

“Why did you move from Derry?” he questions, “...we could’ve been friends if you didn’t.”

“My parents were murdered,” is the reply that shuts him up completely.

Robert doesn’t pry any longer, to your relief, calling a waiter to order. He’s simple, ordering the plainest burger -  _ rare;  _ “To the point where it was pink,” you heard him say - with water, and a side of fries. Feeling bad that the subject of your parents dulled the mood, you try to ask him about his life before moving back to Derry.

“What’s it like? In Castle Rock...? I’ve only been there a couple of times.”

He hums at your question, as if he was deep in thought.

“It’s...not bad,” he continued, “not good either. The people are nice, it’s just...”

“Just...what?”

“They don’t like outsiders, but the town is full of them.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “So, just a slightly better Derry?”

“A slightly better Derry,” he agrees, giving you another once over.

If he wasn’t doing that on purpose before, then he was surely doing it now, because when your cheeks grow redder he only responds with a smirk that makes your heart melt. Robert spins on the bar stool to bring his full attention to you, and you have to hold back the jump when his knee brushes against yours; purposefully.

_ Alright, he’s definitely flirting with me. _

You don’t mind it, to be honest.

Once things are set into motion, and you feel more comfortable around him, the atmosphere grows funner, friendlier. You and him talk here and there, talking about your interests and educational career. Robert was highly interested in people, like you, but had a more scientific approach to his field of study.

Since he had followed a strict schedule at Harvard, he was able to obtain three degrees: two for his major (Anthropology; Archaeology), and one for his minor (Mind, Brain, Behavior). You were impressed and intimidated by his knowledge, compared to your undergraduate degree.

“So, what do you do for a living?” you ask.

“As of right now?” he laughs. “I’m...unemployed.”

That surprises you, considering the fact that he had a lot of assets - the man screamed wealth after-all - and had a high-level education. Someone like him, for sure, would’ve easily gotten a job at a museum, or some other institution. Your eyes shift to his half-eaten burger, wincing at the pinkness of it. In the back of your mind, you can’t help but think of Gordon Ramsey saying that it’s,  _ “Bleeding raw!” _

The meat was really was the rarest of rare.

“What about you?”

You raise a brow. “Hm?”

“What do you do for a living?” he continues. “You strike me as...a dancer.”

“I used to dance,” you nod. “...but not anymore. Now, I guess I’m a nanny of some kind.”

“Why did you stop doing ballet?” Robert questions suddenly.

You’re about to give him an explanation. That the reason was that dancing reminded you too much of your parents; that you finally realized how hard it was to get into the dance industry. But the answer is replaced with a single question that strikes your mind heavily.

“How do you know I used to do ballet?”

Robert had asked that, as if he knew  _ for sure  _ that you danced ballet, and it unnerved you greatly. If he did a social media search, he would’ve found nothing; you never posted anything about ballet (despite loving it, you could never have the courage to perform again). You take in Robert’s reaction with careful eyes, feeling suspicious and more confused than anything else. Robert looks like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, raising your suspicion further.

Finally, after a few seconds have passed, he recovers - though, you can see nervousness in his eyes. “Your phone case,” he says, pointing to the object on the counter. “You put ballet stickers on it...Naturally, I assumed that you liked ballet.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Your phone was facing downwards (which you always did so no one looked at your screen if notifications came up), and the stickers - clearly seen on your floral-print case - were indeed, ballet-related stickers. It was a sound assumption to make, and you believed it to be logical. You made a noise of agreement, nodding.

“You’re right,” you say, with an edge in your voice. “And to answer your question: dancing brings back some memories I don’t want.”

“I can relate to that,” Robert replies. “I know what it’s like...”

Hope bubbles your chest at that moment, the familiarity of someone sharing your ailments fills you with joy. Your eyes find themselves back staring into his, and you can almost see your reflection in them. Again, that feeling of being small but important returns - sending a rush throughout your body. You ask in a quiet voice, “You do?”

“Yeah,” he trails off. “That feeling of wanting to run from your past, I know it too well.”

_ Alright then,  _ you muse.  _ He’s mysterious too... _

“Family?” you ask curiously. “Or is it something else? I won’t push too much.”

“No, no. You’re fine,” Robert shakes his head. “It’s...something else.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes as he says this, taking hold a somber tone that makes you wonder what’s got him so...melancholic. Once more, he looks as if he’s longing for something - something that he’s searching for;  _ the death of a loved one, perhaps?  _ You were naturally curious, but felt that it wasn’t your place to ask, even if Robert didn’t do the same for you.

You weren’t going to comment on his mannerisms, albeit he really did strike you as odd (more like eerie, to be honest), you were going to be respectful. To pass the time, you tried to pry into his mind, and for some reason; you couldn’t. That in itself only made you more suspicious of him, but you didn’t think on it much - some people were harder to read than others.

“Well, I should get going now,” you explain.

You call the waiter to pay for your food, and after packing your things in your bag, you’re about to leave - when a hand wraps around your arm. Your heart frantically beats, not out of giddiness, but out of fear; startled once more by Robert. His hand is wrapped around the base of your bicep, stopping you from leaving. Surprisingly, you’re able to form a response.

“U-Uhm - Did you need something?”

Robert’s eyes trail from yours to his hand and an apologetic look crosses his face. “Sorry,” he muttered, letting go of you. While you gather your thoughts, trying to piece together in your mind  _ who  _ this guy was - Robert runs a hand along the nape of his neck. “I just - ” he stammers, embarrassed by his behavior. He should be; that was extremely uncalled for.

You’re not sure whether to trust him, or be scared of him.

“Do you always try to pick up girls this way?” you joke in a trembling voice.

Robert shakes his head. “Only the one,” he answers honestly.

It takes you a moment to catch his meaning, and when you do, you’re left feeling flustered once more. You were growing antsy though, and muttered an apology to him before brushing away and out of the diner - your arm slightly sore from his grip.

_ For someone so thin, he’s pretty strong,  _ you thought with a frown.

* * *

After leaving so quickly, you felt embarrassed for the remainder of the night. It was rude of you to just leave like that, but you were too timid to bother telling him that you were uncomfortable. Now you were back home, upstairs, and regretting your life decisions.

“What do you think Holland? Do you think I should trust him?” you ask quietly, staring at your companion.

You brought her out of her enclosure to just rest on your bed, given that she was docile around you (not so much around others); you allowed her to stay like that. Of course, the tarantula didn’t respond and had only inched closer to your face for warmth. The rain had returned, so your options of going out again were gone. You didn’t go out much, evidently, and in the times that you did go out - you were left clueless and unsure what to do.

You always liked staying at home.

It’s not until your phone buzzes, do you finally break from your thoughts. Rolling on your side, you brought out your phone and checked your messages; delight following your mute mood. Robert had texted you, finally, after two weeks without notice - and after leaving him an hour prior tonight.

_ “I’m sorry about my behavior,”  _ he messaged.  _ “It was rude, and I wasn’t thinking.” _

You were about to respond with a snarky text, still bothered by his actions, but you did otherwise.

_ “It’s okay,”  _ you text back.  _ “You just scared me, is all,”  _ a pause,  _ “But you can make it up to me.” _

Oh jeez, you were really asking for it, weren’t you?

You did act in the moment, so you decided that it would be best to just settle things over a cup of coffee - maybe even go to the park? You enjoyed typically “romantic” settings around friends, so it was definitely going to affect how you had to act around Robert. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, yes he was probably the most attractive man you’ve seen; but you barely knew him.

_ “How so?”  _ he replied, followed by a wink.

...he really liked flirting, didn’t he?

_ “We can grab coffee tomorrow. And, I didn’t mean it like that...”  _ You added,  _ “I barely know you.” _

Robert fell silent at that, and you could practically imagine his reaction right now. You wondered what he was doing; if he was still at the diner, or at his house. Now that you thought about it, you wondered what he was like when you  _ weren’t  _ around - he seemed friendly enough. When he didn’t come up with a response (after leaving you on read for an hour), you brought Holland back into her enclosure and called it a day.

* * *

“I didn’t pose you as the type to drink cold drinks on a cold day.”

“Really?” Robert smiled. “I guess you can say that I’m a  _ cool  _ guy, then.”

That left you in a fit of giggles, your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of your favorite brew. Thankfully, Robert had replied to your texts early in the morning, and accepted your request - paying for the both of you. Your current discussion was on what he ordered, iced coffee with  _ extra  _ ice. In this rainy weather? Where it was near the low forties?

You found that both amusing, and admiring.

While you were casually dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans (plus your hoodie), Robert was sharply-dressed as always with his tucked in shirt, and -  _ Wait, is he wearing...cologne? _

You could smell it as soon as you were within a few feet from him, and you could easily guess that it was a high-brand cologne brand that did make your head spin from nausea - but you didn’t tell him that. He looked like he was dressed to impress; for you. Despite the fact that he was trying  _ really  _ hard for you, you couldn’t muster up the motivation to ask him if he was interested in you (evidently, he was, but you wanted to make sure, nonetheless).

“What did you want to do after this?” Robert asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I was going to suggest walking in the park,” you motioned to the window with a smile, pointing out the rain.

“...but, that looks like it’s not possible.”

“We could always go to the movies if you want.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Robert?”

Robert smiles. “I am.”

You set down your cup, making a noise of surprise at his directness. The cafe is nearly empty, save for the workers and a customer or two; leaving you to ponder in the soft jazz that plays from the speakers.  _ Well, it looks like he knows what he wants,  _ you muse.  _ But do I know what I want? I don’t want to make him feel bad by saying no but... _

Once more, you’re interrupted with a text from Sharon - telling you that you had a job to do.

“I-I mean,” you stammer out, “we can go if you want, but...I need to go right now.”

“You have to watch those kids again?” he groans in disappointment. “I wish you didn’t have to.”

“A job’s a job,” you shrug. “Besides, Georgie’s a great kid.”

“I can come with,” Robert trails off shyly. “...if you want, I mean.”

You consider his suggestion thoughtfully.

On one hand, you could get to know him better - and maybe he can help out with watching Georgie. On the other hand, you don’t feel so comfortable having him so close to your house (even if Derry was a relatively small town, and everyone knew who everyone was). In the end, you decided that there was no harm in letting him go.

You nod, smiling. “You can come with me. C’mon, follow me.”

* * *

The drive back was long, more so when Robert’s car was trailing behind you. The brief thought of whether or not he was playing on the radio came to mind, but you brushed it off. He seemed like a classical music-type of guy, but you didn’t know for sure. You parked your car in the driveway while Robert parked his near the sidewalk, exiting the car. To avoid getting caught in the rain, Robert jogs over to your porch.

“I’m going to go get Georgie real quick,” you explain, walking to the Denbroughs’ house. “You can wait right here for me.”

“Leaving me out in the cold?” Robert pouts. “How rude.”

You sent a smile his way, though as soon as you turned around - it slowly faded. Yes, it was rude to leave him waiting at the porch, but you didn’t feel comfortable letting him in the house without you seeing what he was doing. You could nearly feel his eyes track you as you headed up to the Denbroughs’ house, ringing the door-bell.

Bill opened it, and upon seeing you he called out Georgie’s name. You smiled when you could hear Georgie yell back, before his tiny steps were heard throughout the house. “H-He’ll be down soon,” Bill says.

“Alright,” you nod. “Thanks for telling me.”

Bill returns to his phone without another word, heading to the dining room where you’re left to wait for Georgie to get his things. You cross your arms, and turn your head - wondering if Robert was still waiting at your front door. Your gaze shifted to the right, and you weren’t surprised to see that he was. As always, he looked deep in thought, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans; staring at a sewer drain with the most intense stare you’ve ever seen someone have.

Robert likes to stare a lot, you noticed.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long!” Georgie apologizes, bounding past you. “My tablet was still charging!”

“It’s no problem,” you say, ruffling his hair. “You know, you can always charge them at my house?”

“I know. I just wanted to be ready for you.”

You laugh. “That’s understandable. Let’s go before the rain gets worse.”

“How was your day Miss King?”

“It was fine...I had coffee earlier.”

“Ewww,” Georgie cringes. “Mommy says that makes you stop growing...and, it smells weird.”

“I have a refined taste,” you reply cheekily. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Grabbing your keys from the single pocket of your hoodie, you head up to your house, holding Georgie’s hand. “Gerogie,” you start, pointing to Robert; who had noticed that you were returning. “This is Robert, he’s my new friend.”

“Hi Robert!” Georgie chirps, smiling.

Robert, however, looks like he’s seen a ghost.

He turns away quickly, muttering out a quiet, “Hello.”

Huh, you wonder what’s got him so quiet all of a sudden. While you’re unlocking the door, you give Robert a pointed look, raising a brow. “You alright?” you ask in a hushed whisper, tilting your head. “You don’t look so well.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, glancing at Georgie again. “I’ve never been around kids, that’s all.”

“You’re in for a hell of a ride then,” you say, trying to lift the mood.

Having left the heater on, you’re met with a comforting gust of air upon opening the door. Robert lets out a sigh of relief - the poor guy was practically freezing to death in his nice clothes - and stands in the entrance, unsure what to do. Kicking off your shoes you turn around to face Robert. “You can go with Georgie to the living room.” you direct, heading upstairs. “I’m going to change really quick. I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Robert says, nodding. He gives the interior of your a once-over; and you can’t help but feel self-conscious as he does this. “It’s a nice house,” he comments with a smile. “It’s very welcoming.” His words bring a genuine smile to your face - a type of happiness that tells you that you’ve successfully created a pleasant atmosphere in your home.

“Thanks,” you reply softly.

Robert’s eyes light up at your response, and he nods without another word.

Not wanting to leave Georgie alone with Robert, you quickly bound up the stairs and into your room, swinging it shut (but not actually closing it). You throw your hoodie and shirt over your head, you shuffle through your drawers - bringing out a fitted beige sweater. Brushing your hair over your shoulders, glance at Holland’s cage for a moment out of interest. Just as you’re about to pull the sweater over your head, a faint noise prompts you to turn around faster than the speed of light.

The creaking of your door.

Fixing the sweater over your body, you head to the door; peering out curiously. To your surprise - there’s no one there, except for the sounds of Georgie’s tablet playing downstairs, and the TV playing a thriller-drama show (presumably being watched by Robert).

Letting out a heavy sigh, and running a hand over your face, you grabbed your laptop and phone before returning downstairs. Nearly having your house being broken into really made you paranoid these past few weeks Oddly enough, Georgie was the only one downstairs, leaving you to wonder where Robert was at.

... _ Was he snooping through your house? _

“Where’s Robert?” you ask

“I went to the bathroom,” Robert’s voice calls from behind. You turn around, raising a brow as he dries his hands against his shirt, giving you an apologetic smile. He motioned his head to one of the rooms down the hall: the downstairs bathroom.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly, nodding.

You headed over to the living room, plopping down on the couch with Robert following after.

He sat next to you, hands resting on his knees as the TV show playing (one of the Black Mirror episodes) captivated him. Sitting with your legs folded underneath you, you turned on your laptop and began to type an e-mail to your uncle - which you did every month. Thankfully, Howard was surprisingly a tech savvy guy; and always hated doing things, as he put it, the “old-fashioned way.” That contrasted heavily to his step-father (your grandpa), who was extremely old-fashioned.

“What are you doing?” Robert asks curiously, breaking your train of thought.

“Stuff,” you clarify. “Just sending an e-mail to my uncle.”

“Are you close with him?”

“Yeah, he’s my only direct family member,” you trail off. “But his wife and kids are nice too.”

“He’s  _ married?”  _ Robert asks with wide eyes.

You wonder why he’s so surprised in the first place. You wonder what kind of image Robert had saw your uncle in upon you mentioning him; did he think that your uncle lived alone like you? “Mhm,” you nod with a smile. “Howard - my uncle - he loves his wife and kids a lot.”

“Well...” Robert shuffles in his seat. “I’m glad that he’s found happiness.”

“You say that as if you know him,” you joke. “But yeah...he's doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s...good.”

“How about you Robert?” you ask.

“Wh-What about me?” he replies, confused.

“Are you close with your family?” you continue. “I-I mean, I know about your parents, too, but...”

“No. It’s fine,” Robert trails off. “My parents they...they were good people. They taught me a lot of things I needed to know about huma -  _ people,  _ well, I knew about a lot already, I was a smart kid, but...I appreciate them.”

_ Here we go again with the weird word use,  _ you thought. Pausing in your typing, you closed your laptop to face yourself with Robert, suddenly interested in what he had to say. “No brothers?” you pry. “Sisters? Cousins?”

“Well - ” he paused, intimidated by your sudden attention to him, “I do have a pet at home. He’s...Well, I guess you can consider him a brother. I trust him a lot, and I’m thankful that he’s there for me.” Robert paused to lower the volume on the television, eyes flickering to Georgie again before they’re back to you. He continues, “I...don’t talk much to others, aside from him,” another pause, “...and you, of course.”

“You must care a lot for your pet,” you comment, a bit flustered by the last part of his comment. “What kind of pet do you have?”

“He’s a turtle,” Robert nods. “And, it’s almost ironic, in a way.”

“How come?”

“I used to hate turtles,” he confesses. “Don’t ask why, just - I’ve...come to appreciate them now.”

“I have a pet too,” you say, not wanting to pry in his business. He made it sound as if he had some sort of personal vendetta against turtles, judging by his reaction. A brief humorous image of Robert yelling at an innocent turtle crosses your mind for a moment. When Robert waits for you to continue, you ask him, “Do you want to see her?”

“Is she a spider?”

_ How the hell did he know that? _

You tilt your head, putting on a perplexed smile. “How’d you know that?” Once more, he surprised you with how he seemed to know things that only you, or your friends (or Georgie, of course), knew.

“Just a hunch,” Robert shrugs nonchalantly. “You look like the type of person to have exotic pets.”

“Well, I was considering buying a bird instead,” you laugh. “Or a dog.”

Setting your laptop to the side, you hop off the couch and head out of the living room. “I’ll go get my spider,” you say, meeting eyes with Robert for a brief moment.

You quickly make you way back upstairs, making sure that Holland was compliant before you brought her out. As much as you did handle her out of her enclosure, you didn’t want to do it too much - even if she did seem to enjoy being out - and wanted to give her rest. Cupping your hands, you allowed her onto them before making a slow trek back downstairs; running was never good when you had a spider in your hands.

When you returned, Robert was still sitting the same spot, his attention returned back to the television. Georgie was doing homework while his cartoons played on his tablet, happily doing his own thing. Much to your chagrin (and hope, since you were still a bit uncomfortable with Robert), the man of question didn’t initiate any conversations with Georgie. He almost seemed to avoid  _ looking  _ at Georige.

He really was awkward with kids, wasn’t he?

“I’m back!” you announce, grabbing Georgie’s attention for a moment.

“Oh! You brought your spider!” Georige exclaims, bounding up to you. “Can I pet her?”

“Gently,” you coax. “On her abdomen only, right - Yeah, right there. Make sure you wash your hands now.”

“Okay!” And with that, your “kid” is off and about to the restroom.

“Here she is,” you say to Robert, sitting beside him. “Her name’s Holland.”

“May I...?” he asks, holding his hands out.

“Sure,” you shrug. “Warning, she might be a bit agitated around strangers.”

Before you could place Holland in Robert’s hands, to your surprise - she brings her front legs out and bares her teeth; in defense. Sure, she was rarely compliant around strangers, but she  _ never  _ bared her fangs at someone. Robert looks, more or less, unsurprised and even disappointed. Giving Robert an apologetic smile, you bring Holland back to your chest.

“I don’t think she likes you,” you say with a somber tone. “Sorry...”

“Not the first time,” Robert grumbles.

You let out a snort, giggling. “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

Shifting in your seat, you placed Holland on the arm-rest of the couch, trusting her enough to crawl away. As always, she was docile and calm in your presence  _ (Did it have to do with your...powers?).  _ Robert brings out his phone, but from the corner of your eye, you notice that he barely has any apps - only the given essentials when buying a new phone. He doesn’t even have  _ Youtube,  _ nor does he have any apps regarding credit cards. Maybe he had - 

“Do you have two phones?” you ask, raising a brow. “I...noticed that you don’t have much on there.”

“No, this is my only phone,” Robert answers honestly. “I prefer doing everything the old-fashioned way.”

“I don’t know how you survived in the world,” you laugh. “Everything’s digital these days.”

“I know my way around the world. My dad was a smart man.”

“Beer company, right?” you question. “The  _ Gray  _ name is popular here in Derry for that.”

“Yes,” Robert nods. “My...great-grandfather created it himself. He had another job before that.”

“What did he do?”

Robert hesitates for a moment. “He was apart of a cir - ”

The door-bell ringing interrupts Robert before he can finish his sentence. Giving him another apologetic smile, you get up from your seat and head from the door. To your surprise, Sharon’s at the door - did she come home already? Checking your phone confirms that only two hours had passed, but you don’t question it.

“Sharon,” you greet, opening the door. “Are you here to pick up Georgie?”

“Mhm,” she smiles. “I was able to come home early, so I thought I’d drop by.”

“Alright,” you turn away to call out Georgie’s name.

“Coming!”  Georgie replies back.

“Was he being good?” Sharon asks. “I know he can be a bit of trouble.”

“Oh, Georgie’s never a bother. He always listens to me.”

“Good,” Sharon nods.

Soon enough, Georgie’s making his way past you and jumps into his mother’s arms, greeting her. She responds by picking him up and placing kisses along his head, smiling. You smile too, albeit yours is a bit sad - you wished that you could remember your mother, Sarah, and the way she used to hold you; or your father’s presence, even.

Seventeen years of them being gone made you forget a lot about them. You shut the door without another word, turning around and letting out a soft sigh. Remembering that Robert was still in the house, you returned to the living room, and sat next to him. Allowing Holland to crawl into your lap, you met eyes with Robert - and was unsure what to say, or bring up at that moment.

An awkward silence passed between you two.

“So,” he starts off quietly.

“So,” you repeat.

“I should get going now,” he says, rising from his seat. “Should I just come back here tomorrow?”

You bite your lip, considering your choices. Then finally, you come to the conclusion that there’s no harm in letting him come. Robert was very open with you, and the more you got to talk to him - the more you realized that he was a genuinely nice guy - you felt comfortable in his presence. With a smile you nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

At that moment, you’ve never seen so much hope in someone’s eyes.

You can't help but feel a bit hopeful, yourself.


	3. Derry I: The Well, The Gang, and The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re not telling me the truth...are you?”_

_Singing like it's a full moon_  
 _Careless now that he has you_  
\- Zella Day, “Sweet Ophelia”

* * *

Upon your next meeting, Robert brought you flowers.

It was a bouquet with a variety of flowers ranging from harsh reds, to soft yellows. It was an “apology gift,” as he called it, and you didn’t object to his gift. You sauntered to your kitchen to put it in a temporary glass, leaving it on your dining table. He was waiting in the living room, patiently (as always) and you found yourself falling into a deep conversation after that.

“I know you probably think I’m weird,” Robert started softly. “But I - I just can’t help it y’know?” he paused for a moment to take in your reaction; inhaling sharply. “I’m just so used to analyzing people; wanting to see what’s important to them. I...have a knack for knowing people,” another pause, “...and I just have this  _ habit  _ of finding out a lot about a person...” He continues. “I hope you can forgive me for this,” Robert laughed nervously, rubbing the nape of his neck. “...It’s just the way I am, y’know?”

Your eyes scrutinize him heavily, taking in every word with consideration. True, he did major (and minor) in people - and the history of people - so it did make sense that he was used to this sort of thing; finding a person’s character. And maybe, you  _ have  _ been harsh to him these past couple of days, but was it a bad thing?

You used to being cautious, suspicious of strangers, especially with Robert - since you couldn’t read him from the moment you met him. However, he did mention that he found it easy to read people. Maybe...was he like  _ you? _

You bit the question back, nodding in response with a soft smile gracing your features. “That’s perfectly fine,” you replied. “I completely understand...I’ll try to keep that in mind next time.”

Robert let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

Things went back to normal, after that day.

You went back to watching Georgie, and Bill (on some occasions), and the only “new” thing in your life: was Robert Gray. He often visited your home, since you had still felt uncomfortable visiting your childhood home - though, you considered Howard’s place in Maryland to be your actual childhood home - and usually came with flowers and gifts.

Robert  _ loved  _ to shower you with all sorts of stuff.

Now, you didn’t oppose the gifts, but you always told him that you weren’t interested (at the time). He seemed to be taking things at a very fast pace, including your friendship with him. You preferred to know him for a couple more months before giving him a chance; you weren’t shutting him off, you just needed time to yourself.

Despite your close age-ranges, his interests seemed to be entirely different from yours. You were still seeking a better job (well, the Denbroughs had paid nicely, but you couldn’t watch Georgie forever), and you had considered leaving Derry from time to time. Robert, however, was already done with his educational career but seemed dead-set on staying in Derry; and he seemed  _ very  _ interested in a partner.

You were just two different people, with different interests.

It wasn’t a  _ bad  _ thing (nobody was perfect) but it did tend to get in the way of how you saw Robert. You even encouraged him to download a dating app of sorts, or go see other people; but he always replied with the same thing.

“There’s no one else like you,” he always said.

“You’re special.”

* * *

_ September 17th _

Days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into a month.

You had learned a lot about Robert Gray, and he did the same with you - though, there were a lot of times where Robert seemed to know more about you than you do about yourself. You found Robert to be great company, and a great friend (and one day, you’d hope that he would be more). There were even some occasions where you went to his house, on 29 Neibolt Street - your old home - and hung out with him; of course, when you weren’t watching Georgie.

He was also a very profound cook, you found that out on your sixth meeting with him, and he even knew how to bake. Jokingly, you mentioned the idea of you being his teacher - and for some reason, he seemed to freeze at that...He froze a lot about things you told him, and you wondered if you reminded him of someone, or something; in his past. He always brushed it off as just something he experienced in the past, which he did a lot. But just as he did freeze up at a lot of times, he had a tendency to lean into your touch... _ a lot. _

The poor guy was practically touch starved, and you wondered why.

_ He probably had relationship problems,  _ you concluded.

But then again, he rarely talked about previous relationships. Which lead you to the conclusion that he  _ did  _ have a bad past with people - friends, maybe? As much information you had on Robert, he was still a complete mystery to you...but it wasn’t so bad. In the end, you grew to appreciate his presence. Now you were here, in his house, sharing a couch: talking to him as if you knew him your entire life.

“I still can’t believe you did  _ that  _ to your professor!” you exclaim with wide eyes.

“Well,” Robert laughs. “He refused to see any other theory but his own, so, I did what any good man would do.”

“Write a full report in the night explaining why his theory  _ didn’t  _ work? That’s...incredible.”

“I aim to make things right,” he says with a smile. “It’s...nice, to do that.”

“You must’ve been popular with the ladies,” you joke playfully. “I-I mean - you already have the looks.”

“I was,” Robert says, a bit embarrassed. “But...none of them were as interesting as you.”

“I - ” you choke on your words, cheeks turning pink.

Robert leaned forward suddenly, resting a hand along your cheek. Startled, you press back into the couch with wide eyes - inhaling sharply. Robert’s face is close enough where you can see a bit of yellow in the brown of his eyes: mesmerizing you instantly. He smells like peppermint and a mix of earthly scents - different from the cologne that he put on the first few times of him meeting you. His face is so close that you can feel the warmth of his own cheeks radiating against you.

Neither of you move, and you - not knowing what to do - can only ask a simple question. “What am I to you, Robert?” you ask. Your voice comes out hushed and soft, a tiny whisper that goes unheard by anyone else but Robert.

“You,” he trails off, eyes flickering to your lips. He looks like he so desperately wants to kiss you, he was never shy about his actions nor what he wanted from you, but the look in your eyes tells him to stop; before anything else can happen. His thumb brushes along the apple of your cheek, your foreheads touch.

“You are...very dear to me,” he answers. “You’re my world.”

_ Was he seriously confessing his...love? To you? And you’ve only known him for what - a month? _

Taking your silence as approval, he leans even closer...and is stopped by your hand: pressed against his chest. “Wait,” you mutter softly, turning your head away, “I...I’m not ready for that...not yet Robert.”

It hurt you to see the pained look in his eyes, that longing want that he always had when looking at you. But, you two weren’t dating - and admittedly, you weren’t ready to, even if the two of you were interested in one another - and you wanted it to stay like that for a while. You wanted to think things through before it was too late, you wanted to figure  _ yourself  _ out before Robert could.

You just weren’t ready for that.

“I understand,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

“Thank you,” you sigh.

“Did you want to go grab something to eat?” Robert asks, getting up from his seat. He gives you a reassuring smile to ease the mood, holding out his hand. “N-Nothing romantic about it, or anything, I’m just hungry.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, taking his hand. “I’d like that.”

Things go back to normal after that, and he leads you out of the house and towards his car - which Robert had started to drive you in starting a week prior. You take the passenger’s seat while he drives, playing classical music to fill in the silence. You noticed that he was a textbook driver, and in everything in general - he liked doing things the “right way.”

“Tomorrow’s Georgie’s birthday,” you say with a smile.

“He’s turning seven, right?”

“Mhm,” you beam. “I’ve been working on his cake this entire week.”

“The fondant one right? It was what - cars themed?”

“Circus themed, actually,” you trail off. “He likes the circus a lot.”

Robert, once more, had fallen into silence at your words; his replies replaced by the soft music that poured from the radio. Not wanting to spend much (you also found out that Robert was really conservative with his money), he just stopped by at the nearest fast-food chain restaurant - entering the drive thru.

“Do you celebrate Halloween?” you ask curiously.

“I used to,” Robert says, “as a child. I’m not a fan of holidays, but I - ”

“ - love the candy,” you finish with a laugh, crossing your arms. The drive thru line was long, so you figured that you two would be stuck here for a while. You continue, “I’m just saying...October’s right around the corner, and I think your house - given its current status and its interior features - would be perfect for it.”

“My house isn’t  _ that  _ scary,” Robert finishes, saying your name after. “It just has a bad history.”

“What about the well in the basement?” you question. “Did you remove it?”

Robert froze, his hands locked on the steering wheel. Taking in his reaction, which was one full of mild fear and confusion, he turned to you with wide eyes. “What well?” he repeats back. You can’t help but notice the tremble in his voice as he says this. “I’ve...I’ve been down there, and I’ve never seen a well.”

It takes you a moment for you to realize that you’ve slipped, remembering something important: only  _ you  _ could see the well. The house on 29 Neibolt Street used to occupy the “well house,” which was an important landmark in Derry’s history. The previous occupants - before your family and Robert - just so happened to build their house with it. The well was a terrifying structure, destroyed with time, and it seemed to never end...

_ “Throw something down there!” your friend ordered, handing you a rock. _

_ You took the rock with timid hands, fear pounding in your heart as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The light was busted, the only thing illuminating the basement with flashlights and your friend’s flip-phone. You took slow steps towards the well, scrunching your face up at the smell that came from it. It smelled like a sewer drain; full of sewage. _

_ “Well,” your friend said impatiently. “Throw it!” _

_ And you did. _

_ You tossed the rock over the well, your friend holding the flashlight to watch it fall. The light had died down the well, and you and your friend had listened patiently for the sound of the rock meeting the ground - or water, since it was a well. Minutes passed and your friends shared a look. Frightened, you quickly ran up the steps to the basement, and into the kitchen; your friend angrily shouting behind you. _

_ God, basements were absolutely terrifying. _

Your parents couldn’t see the well - Howard could (but that was only because he was like you, in a way) - and the only other person who had also seen the well: were your childhood friends in Derry. You realized, adults (given if they weren’t like you) couldn’t see it. And Robert had just told you that he’s never seen the well.

You turn to him, anxiously. “I’ve...it’s nothing, Robert,” you say, trying to avoid the topic.

“It’s just something that used to be - ”

“No,” Robert interrupts. “You saw a well, right? Do you see...other things too?”

That grabs your attention, the subject of your “powers” coming to light. Raising a suspicious brow at him, you shut off the music for a moment, thinking of a reply. Was he suggesting what you were thinking about? Was he like you? You weren’t able to form a response, because as soon as you opened your mouth, Robert drove up to the next window; and your food was ready.

“Let’s talk about this at another time,” you mutter. “After we eat.”

Robert looks doubtful but nods nonetheless. Once more, he’s trained on your eyes - seeing something in them that you don’t see yourself. “Okay,” he replies back. “But promise me, as soon as we’re done, you’ll tell me everything.”

_ How do you even know what “everything” is in the first place? _

* * *

The two of you ate in silence.

To lift the mood, you turned on the radio to a “Top Hits” channel, recent songs playing through the radio. Robert, having a certain distaste for today’s music, changes the channel back to classical hits. Neither of you say a word to each other, as if saying something would immediately sour the mood.

Once the two of you are done, he throws away the trash and begins the journey back to his house. Your hands are folded in your lap, your gaze directed to the houses that you passed by. You try to think of something to talk about, but it’s soon drowned out by your overpowering thoughts - mainly, about the subject of Robert and his knowledge.

“I’ll try to tell you everything,” you confess. “But lately, I’ve been forgetting a lot of things.”

“What do you mean?” he replies back.

“I’ve been misplacing a lot of stuff lately,” you say with a dry laugh. “I thought I was going crazy.”

As of late, you noticed that a lot of your things had started to go missing. It was just small items, maybe a necklace or a stick of chapstick - but then it escalated to clothes and other items. You couldn’t find your favorite dress, one of your lace articles, and you couldn’t even find your hair brush. This usually happened when you were away from home, or when you did laundry, and you simply reasoned this by saying that you misplaced your items (even if you didn’t get it back).

You briefly thought back to the man who tried to break into your house, wondering if he was the cause of it. You did feel like you were being watched from time to time, and it didn’t ease your nerves in the slightest - especially with the possibility that this person knew that you babysat kids. Thankfully, you took extra measures to up your security, and had installed cameras around your house.

After you upped the security, things had gone back to normal.

“Really?” Robert questions. “...Well, I hope you find your stuff, eventually.”

“Yeah, me too...”

Your words died as soon as you neared Robert’s house.

Robert didn’t waste any time in wanting to talk to you, parking the car and unlocking the front door as soon as possible. You watched as his frame entered the house before you gather your thoughts, and followed Robert. How much did you want to tell him? How much information could you  _ trust  _ Robert with? “Psychics” (as they called them) were never taken lightly - especially after the instance in Chamberlain, Maine thirty years ago - and you wondered if Robert was okay with you: being you.

Then again, Robert was a bit odd himself, so maybe he’d be nice about it - understanding, even. You follow him into the basement and found surprise when the light came on. “You fixed the light,” you comment idly, trying to hide your uneasiness. The basement was pristine, except for the obvious thing lying in the center of the room. The thing that sprouted your fear of basements...

The well.

“Do you see it?” Robert asks suddenly. “The well, I mean?”

“Yes. It’s...still there.”

Robert walks around the basement as if he can  _ sense  _ that the well is there, but he can’t actually  _ see  _ it. You hold back a choked noise when he walks  _ through  _ the well as if it was nothing - to him, it probably was nothing. Robert’s attention is brought to your reaction, taking in everything with a mute look in his eyes. It’s as if he wants to say something, but he can’t.

“What happened?” he questions.

“You walked through the well,” you whisper. “I... _ Why  _ do you believe me in the first place?” His question leaves you in silence once more, causing you to frown. “Robert,” you repeat in a cold tone.

“You’re not telling me the truth...are you?”

* * *

The question sends Robert into a state of insecurity and caution.

He can feel the moment his heart skips a beat, the breath in his lungs leaving for a moment. He stands there, mid-step, in the mostly empty basement (and now that he knew that the well was still there; he didn’t feel so calm knowing that it was there) - feeling their gaze burning into the back of his head. He swallows a knot in his throat, his hands growing cold and panic settling in.

_ The well shouldn’t be there,  _ Robert thinks to himself.  _ The Turtle promised that things would be in my favor... _

He finds himself meeting the judgmental stares of his “friend,” his lover - though, they didn’t know that yet (and Robert wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell them that) - and can feel himself shrink back at it. Their arms are crossed, their eyes are a dark russet under the harsh light; red undertones gleaming with each step they took towards him.

Robert feels the words die in his throat, an explanation unable to come to mind. Shit, how was he supposed to explain _ this?  _ How was he supposed to tell them that he knew that they had powers; he knew the moment that he saw their red eyes, that he was in trouble.

The Crimson King was dead, but his child still lived on.

Robert suddenly regrets taking up The Turtle’s offer - the Other could go screw it for all he cared. Had he known that he was going into this, with knowledge but lacking any true abilities, then he would’ve rather stayed dead (then again, he would do anything to be with  _ them).  _ What was the point in having knowledge if he couldn’t apply it?

Sure, he had gotten far as to entering their home - albeit that ended as soon as they installed security cameras, and upgraded their security - but now he was stuck. He was powerless and unable to fight back. There were so many things in his favor, from the fact that his darling was older, lived alone (but next to Bill Denbrough’s home; oh how Robert hated him, not as much as Victor Criss, but still) - and they seemed to be interested in him.

Interested, but, as they put it: “not ready.”

It was hard enough to spend twenty-seven long years aware of his previous existence, more so now that a manifestation of The Turtle was always watching him (although he truly did thank The Turtle, Robert was still sour enough that The Turtle never provided help beforehand). But now that he knew for a  _ fact  _ that the well was there. Shines never lied, and his darling’s shine -  _ Did they still have lights, or did the King’s death prevent this from happening? _ \- was no exception.

Finally, Robert comes up with a response: but even he knew that this was a half-assed one. “Remember what I said about Castle Rock?” he continues, scolding himself for allowing himself to sound so weak. “...about the people?”

“Yes,” they say slowly. “I remember.”

“Well, the people aren’t the only thing that’s wrong,” Robert trails off. “The town...has a bad history.” Thankfully, there was truth to this (Castle Rock was eerily similar to Derry), and Robert found himself growing more confident by the second. “There’s something evil in Castle Rock, something that makes people do bad things...Something  _ wrong.  _ And I think Derry is the same.”

Thankfully, they were forgiving enough to believe him.

“I know what you mean,” they reply. “Sometimes, I see bad things happen here. You know about the bullies here in Derry? The one led by Henry Bowers, son of the sheriff?” A pause, “I see them do the most awful things to people, younger kids. And you know what happens when adults see them do those things? They - ”

“ - ignore them,” Robert comments, nodding. Just for good measure to build his alibi and character, he adds, “I’ve seen the same thing happen in Castle Rock...I figured, if you could see it, then I’m not so crazy after-all.”

Their shoulders relax, but Robert can tell that they’re still thinking of another question to ask. However, they shake their head and let out a sigh, running a hand over their face. “This is too much for me,” they say quietly. “I’m...going home now. I need to finish Georgie’s cake. I’ll text you later.”

They leave before Robert can say anything back, his throat going dry. Once he hears the sound of his door closing, his shoulders slump and the panic returns. He leaves the basement, locking the door for good measure, before trudging up the stairs and into his room (which just so happened to be  _ their  _ old room) - hands turning into tight fists.

Robert’s eyes glower at the glass tank, the faint buzz of a filter and water rushing fills his ears. His gaze soon falls on the turtle that stares back at him with beady black eyes, full of a knowing look that only he could see.

“Stupid turtle,” he mutters to himself. “You didn’t tell me that  _ this  _ would happen.”

Once more, he’s left with silence; and it takes everything in his power to bite back the rage that bubbles up. Letting out a heavy sigh through his nose, he heads over to the closet, shuffling through his clothes before he finds a small bag in the corner. Opening it, his hands shuffle through several articles of clothing; his hands reach for the tulle dress stuffed inside - holding onto it for comfort. It still smells like them, and it eases his nerves instantly.

He wished that they were back in his arms: like old times.

...before the Losers Club.

* * *

“Hey, Sharon, did you get the plates yet?”

“No, dear!” Sharon says from the living room. “Can you get them for me, please?”

“No problem!” you reply with a smile.

Today was Georgie’s birthday and you and Sharon had planned something amazing for him. His father, Zack, was usually out of the house more, so you ended up planning the party with Sharon (with some help from Bill, here and there). While Sharon worked on the decorations (i.e. filling balloons and setting up the popcorn machine), you went to work on the cake and the other baked goods - ranging from cake pops, to marshmallow-filled cookies.

All of them were circus-themed, as requested by Georgie.

It was a good way to pass the time, especially after your mind was so frazzled after your “talk” with Robert. Thankfully, some of your questions were answered, but you were left with more. Although he didn’t explicitly say that he was like you, he at least answered the reason why he had a tendency to know so much - he’s seen this before, in Castle Rock.

How much he could see, you had yet to find out.

Your hands grasped the tray of cookies from the oven, unbothered by the heat. They were balloon-shaped, the red frosting set up on the counter already. You were humming to yourself, a big smile on your face as you imagined Georgie’s reaction to all of this. He was currently with Bill (plus the Losers Club, as always) at McCarron Park.

When you were done with everything, setting everything up in the living room, you and Sharon watched the scene with proud eyes. “You’re like the sister Georgie never had,” Sharon compliments. “Do you mind getting Georgie for me?”

“I don’t mind at all,” you reply. “The park’s not too far away.”

“Thank you,” she says. “You have your gift, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “It’s in the kitchen!”

Watching Sharon walk away, you left the house with your keys in hand, a smile still on your face. To your surprise, upon walking back to your house, you noticed that a certain someone was waiting at your front door and - was he looking through your windows?

“Hey stranger,” you call out.

Robert turns around, startled. “O-Oh hey,” he stammers out, hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“I just wanted to drop by...after yesterday.”

“Oh...” you trail off. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? Please?”

“Why can’t we talk today?”

“Georgie’s birthday, remember?” you reply, pointing to the Denbroughs’ house.

Robert follows your gaze, and you can’t help but notice the way he flinches upon seeing the red balloons strewn about. You brush past him to head to your car, entering the vehicle. “Wait!” he calls out.

“Where are you going?”

“To pick up Georgie,” you continue. You already know that he wants to go with you  _ (Did he ever hang out with anyone besides yourself?),  _ but you ask the question anyway. “Did you want to go?”

Like an eager puppy, he nods and enters the vehicle without another word. Much to your chagrin, he begins to talk to you, but you don’t really say anything in response - not wanting to talk to him. Still, Robert never takes the hint and continues to barrage you with several questions and comments that are left unanswered.

“I was thinking of going to the movies today.”

“Do you enjoy watching Georgie?”

“You’re really pretty today.”

Alright  _ that  _ one merits bashfulness to come up, your cheeks growing warm at his compliment. Still, you don’t give in and tap your fingers against the steering wheel, trying to relax a little. The smile on your face soon fades when you near the park, dread filling your heart.

“Oh no..."

“What is it?” Robert asks, trying to find your point of interest.

And he does. You can see him freeze up beside you, both of you staring at the group of teenagers that were bothering the Losers Club (plus Georgie).  _ The Bowers Gang,  _ you think to yourself. You could tell from the seven boys who towered over the four smaller ones; and the longer you stared, the more you wanted to help. You stop the car immediately, exiting the vehicle even though Robert shouts out protests at you - but you don’t care. You can only focus on the things happening in front of you, and the rage in your heart.

Hands turned into fists and you found yourself trying to stop yourself from doing anything more.

“Hey!” you yell out. “What the hell are you kids doing?”

“Oh thank fuck!” one of the Losers, presumably Richie, says. “These guys were - ”

“This isn’t any of your fucking business,” the notorious Henry Bowers grits out, stepping forward. “Leave before it gets ugly.”

“Threatening an adult won’t do you any good,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Even though you were a good few inches taller than Henry, he was still intimidating - especially with what you had heard about him. You heard that he liked to beat up kids “for fun,” and that was just the start of it: considering the fact that you heard him to carry a switchblade on him. You put on a brave face, not wanting to do anything to his mind yet. You always tried to solve a problem without using unnecessary forces (i.e. your powers), but quite frankly - you wanted to do whatever you could to get away from Henry.

“Henry we should go,” the buffest one says - he was wearing a cap on his head. “Before they call the cops.”

“Yeah, Henry,” the one with platinum hair  _ (Why do you feel like you’ve seen him before?)  _ adds on.

“Shut. Up,” Henry grits back. “The bitch is asking for it.”

_ Alright, that’s enough -  _

You’re about to pry into Henry’s mind when a figure, Robert, brushes past you and towards the group. Afraid for him, even though Robert was tall he was as thin as a twig and looked more book-smart than street smart. You call out his name out of fear, motioning to the kids to go behind you. Georgie clings to your hip, wrapping his legs around your waist with fear in his eyes.

“Robert!” you hiss out. “What are you doing?!”

Robert ignores you, having a staring contest with Henry Bowers.

You’re worried because of said teenager, along with the lanky one with a moppy mess of black hair - in addition to that, the one with the square jaw (who struck you as a jock-type of kid) - made you fear for Robert’s life. Not wanting him to get into any trouble you cast your gaze to the side, shielding your eyes with your hair as you get to work.

Henry, despite his harsh glare and strong exterior, was easier to read than a child. It was as if he  _ wanted  _ to be heard; wanted to be seen. Exhaustion burns with your pumping heart, but you push forward into the inner reaches of his mind. You take a discrete step forward when the grass underneath you dies, trying to hide the withering flower underneath your shoe.  _ Leave us alone,  _ you order - feeling a headache come forward.  _ Go cool off back home, or leave. _

And thankfully, it  _ works. _

Maybe it was mixed in with Henry’s intelligence - Henry wasn’t a  _ stupid  _ teenager, you realized - that made your abilities easier to use on him, or maybe it was the fact that he was intimidated by Robert. For whatever reason swayed his decision, his jaw clenched and his hands unclenched; turning around briskly.

“C’mon fellas,” he says in a blank tone. “These fairies are not worth it.”

You hear the blonde one mutter out a “sorry,” (heard only by you) before the seven-membered gang follows Henry Bowers to God-knows-where. Robert turns around meeting eyes with you, to which you respond by turning away to pat Georgie’s head reassuringly. “You’re okay kid,” you whisper. “You’re safe with me.”

“They were saying really bad things,” Georgie mutters back. “...about Billy and his friends.”

“He won’t do anything to you guys,” you say with confidence. “As long as I’m here.” Seeing that everyone else was a sour mood, you turned to the younger teens with a questioning gaze. “Will you guys be alright biking home?” you ask with a raised brow.

They nod timidly, and you send them on their way - with Bill following your car back to the house. Robert was still in the passenger’s seat, probably mulling over what just happened. Although you never explicitly stated that you had powers, you had a feeling that Robert was suspicious about how easily Henry managed to back off.

_ I’m not going to tell him,  _ you think.  _ Not yet, at least. _

“Are you excited for your party?” you ask Georgie, looking in the rear view mirror. “Your mother and I did a lot for it.”

“Yeah!” Georgie exclaims, his mood lifted. “I hope the cake is good!”

“It should be. I made it.”

“Oh, then it’ll be  _ super  _ good! You’re so good at baking!”

“Well, I aim to please Georgie. Besides, you’re turning seven!” you reply with a smile. Turning to Robert you gave him a questioning glance. “Do you want me to drop you off at your place after?” you continue.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Please.”

* * *

Georgie’s birthday was a success. With you taking care of the sweets and food, everyone - consisting of Georgie’s family plus some of his friends - was in a good mood. Georgie was in an even bigger mood with all of the gifts that were given to him. You had given him something you found while browsing Amazon.

Being a big fan of jewelry and accessories, you bought him a turtle bracelet (having been inspired by Robert to do so). You told Georgie that it would be his “good luck” charm, given with how much faith Robert put into his own pet. Georgie, of course, loved it - along with a couple of bucks that you gave him - having a blast.

After cleaning up and bidding the Denbroughs a “good night,” you returned back home to rest. You shrugged out of the dress you were wearing, still feeling bitter that you couldn’t find your long tulle one, and took a shower. Things were really turning up for you, especially with how Howard said that he and his wife going to visit (since his kids were going to visit their mother’s family) sometime around the winter.

You were even thinking of going back to school to earn a certification in dance (plus a degree in education). Maybe you could move on and get back into ballet, if you were feeling up to it. If not, then you were satisfied with what you had.

You let out a heavy sigh, brushing the remains of your hair once it was dry. You changed into a bralette and underwear, pulling a silk kimono-robe over your body. The rain had held up pretty well these past couple of weeks, though, you were sure that they would return around October. And then once November came by, the snow would come and the holidays would arrive. This would be your fifth Christmas here in Derry, and you were feeling hopeful for the future.

“G’night Holl,” you mutter, dimming the lights on her tank.

Running a hand along your neck you paused in your actions, frowning when you saw that your window was open.  _ Did I open that earlier?  _ you ponder curiously. You shut the window with a flick of your hand, resting on the bed as the window closed on its own - a satisfied smile on your face.

You were starting to get the hang of using your powers, even if you’ve had them for a while. Even if you knew that you had them, it still bothered you nonetheless to know that you were...different from everyone else. You shut off the fairy lights in your room, pulling the covers over your body before falling into a dreamless sleep...

Or so you thought.

* * *

_ You were in the basement, the one in the Neibolt House. _

_ Your hands were trembling, gripping the grimy and mossy rocks that held the well together, peering down into the darkness. An ominous pit had filled your gut, bringing a type of dread to your heart - one that you haven’t felt in a long time. You hadn’t had visions in a while, not since you first moved to Derry when you were five. _

_ You could hear your breath grow shallower, your eyes searching throughout the darkness. And then, you heard a faint noise, echoing far below the well...a giggle. Your hands gripped the rocks tighter, shoulders tensing as the air around you became cold. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, apprehension growing thick. _

_ You held your breath -  _

_...and a hand found itself on the small of your back. You turned around, and felt the hand push you back: down into the well. Letting out a strangled scream, you fell down into the well - the last thing you could see being a bone-white face, the sounds of bells ringing in your ears, and your screams. _

_ The further you fell, the darker it became. _

The moment your “body” made impact with the ground, you startled awake in bed: clutching your heart. It was beating at an unnatural rate, your fear evident and the panic settling in. You let out choked breaths, sweat pooling at your brow. You threw the blankets off of you, you headed to your bathroom as soon as possible to douse your face in hold water - throwing up in the sink soon after.

When you finally recovered, your hands were gripping the corners of the sink, your tired eyes fixed on your fearful form. You could feel the air around you grow tense, feeling claustrophobic in the darkness. You were unable to sleep after that, with it being around four in the morning, and for the remainder of time: you sat alone in bed, wringing your hands together.

_ What the hell did I just see? _


	4. Derry I: Luckiest Man in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Whatever you say, darling.”_

_With all I've done and all I say_  
 _I've been loving you in a different way_  
\- Tender, “Nadir”

* * *

You haven’t had nightmares since you first moved to Derry.

You remembered screaming as a child, crying to your parents about the “spiders” - the terrifying visage that terrorized your mind; long forgotten until now. You could remember clearly, the  _ abominations  _ that fought and danced in the darkness. The darkness turned into a beautiful blue, illuminated by lights, and then it was plunged into a deep red (crimson) - as if everything was bleeding. You remembered your father telling you that you should’ve never bought Holland, that spiders scared you.

But it wasn’t the spiders that scared you, it was the  _ things  _ that you heard in your dreams.

The sounds were warped at first, as if something was trying to stop you from listening: from hearing. And then, on the fifth night of having that awful dream - you heard it.  _ Your voice... _ but it wasn’t your voice, at least, that’s what you thought. It, the one bathed in black and red, sounded like you, but at the same time it sounded older; wiser,  _ deadlier.  _ At the age of five, you had witnessed the carnage of a being larger than life - at the hands of a monster that sounded like  _ you. _

It took the entire duration of the end of elementary school, to the end of high school, for you to convince yourself that everything you had seen was just your mind creating sick images.  _ (But no five-to-six-year-old dreamt of that.)  _ Just to make things “easier” on your uncle, your psychiatrist and psychologist suggested that you took pills to ease the nightmares. They did help you sleep better, but it didn’t stop the dreams from coming; especially after you were soon traumatized after the deaths of your parents.

However, things had changed. You learned to push back the dreams, and as soon as you left Derry, you stopped dreaming of awful things. Instead, you were just trying to push back the grief and loss, finding success as soon as high school was over. You found happiness in the four years at the university you went to - finding strength amongst your friends.

But you were dreaming again, but it was different.

It had been two hours since you had woken up from your nightmare. Your hand trembles against your phone, staring at the caller ID - wondering if you should call him. Howard, despite his uniqueness, was more set than you on burying that part of himself; deep. You haven’t talked to him about your dreams, or the “ghosts” he’s seen back in his hometown (in Virginia).

You were about to press the call button but thought against it, turning off your phone and tossed it beside you.  _ Alright, I change my mind,  _ you think to yourself.  _ It looks like my life’s still a shit-hole, after-all.  _ Instead of calling Robert, who seemed to be the only other person who seemed to understand your suspicion of Derry, you trudge out of bed and grab your laptop.

You fill your search bar with two words:  _ Castle Rock. _

* * *

After booking your room at the hotel, you quickly went to packing your things (even though you were leaving tomorrow morning, you still wanted to be prepared). This was the only way you knew how to deal with the dreams: by leaving Derry. It worked before, and it would work again - at least, you hope that it would. Castle Rock, from the way Robert had described it, made it sound as if it was just as bad as Derry (and you had to admit that it was), but you never had a problem with dreams or sights there.

Maybe it was because you weren’t as “tied” to Castle Rock as you were with Derry, but you were willing to take the risk. There were too many “maybe’s” in your life, and you wanted to change that. You needed answers, but first - you needed a break. Castle Rock was your second option, your first one being to head to your uncle’s place in Maryland: but you didn’t want to worry him too much. At least, in Castle Rock, your business was no one’s until you intruded on another’s.

Besides, Castle Rock was always beautiful when summer ended, and fall began. You could take a few pictures there and relax, have a vacation before things could get too hectic in your life. After taking a scalding shower (literally) and changed into more comfortable attire, you texted Sharon a quick message; telling her of your plans for the rest of September.

> Hey, Sharon, I’m just letting you know that I’ll be out of town starting tomorrow to the 30th. I’m going to take a break and relax, I hope you’re fine with that, and you can halt the payments until I get back.

Returning your attention to your packing, you decided to bring a lot of dresses instead of turtlenecks - as cold as it was down there (Derry was colder), the remains of summer were still apparent. After that, you packed your essentials and made sure to charge your electronics. Once you were done, your attention was brought to the subject of Holland.

Removing her from her enclosure, you perched her in her temporary holding case, taking her permanent enclosure outside with you. Opening the garage door, you set the enclosure down, and grabbed a few cleaning supplies. You had cleaned it a couple of months ago, but you always liked to re-do and change up the habitat a bit.

Before you could start, your phone buzzed, prompting you to take a look at it. It was Sharon, and thankfully, she understood your need for a break (even though she didn’t know what prompted you to have one in the first place).

> I completely understand! Take all the time you need! - Shar.

_ God, she’s the best,  _ you thought with a smile.

Your routine was the same after that, with a few questioning texts from Robert here and there, and finally - you were left to tell him your plans for the rest of September. “Hey,” you called, dialing his number (unsurprisingly, he picked up immediately). “Can you come and check out my house for the rest of the month?”

_ “Don’t I already do that?”  _ he jokes, knowing that he visited you all of the time.

“Not like that,” you mutter. “I’m going to be out of town for two weeks.”

Dead silence, and then,  _ “...what do you mean by that?” _

“I mean what I said Robert,” you continue. “I’m leaving Derry to take a break.”

_ “To where? How long?”  _ he pries.

“Castle Rock,” you say, “ - just until the 30th. Nothing much.”

_ “You’re leaving Derry?”  _ he continues,  _ “W-Why? Did something happen?” _

You can’t help but notice at how panicked he sounds.

“That’s what I said,” you reply, resting your phone in the crux of your neck and shoulder to fix Holland’s tank. In the background on Robert’s end, you can hear him muttering something -  _ wait, was he talking to his turtle?  _ To try and ease his nerves, you finished off with a simple, “Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long it’s just two weeks. It’s just a simple vacation.”

_ “Two weeks is too long,”  _ he grumbles.

You frown at his statement, but don’t say anything else, muttering a quiet “see you later” to him. After that, you return to your monthly choices, bringing back Holland’s tank into your room and allowing her to make a new nest from it. You gathered your suitcase into the trunk of your car before zipping up your laptop backpack and settling it in the passenger seat. 

Admiring your handiwork, you were about to return back into your house - if you weren’t interrupted by a rumbling engine approaching your house. Turning around, raising a brow; you could literally  _ feel  _ your shoulders slump when you realized that Robert’s car was getting close.

_ Holy shit, this guy never gives up,  _ you think.  _ What is he going to do next: kiss me? _

Feeling slightly on edge, you watched as Robert exited his car to jog up to you - visibly out of breath and frantic. “You can’t leave,” he pants out. “What about what you saw in the basement? Why are you leaving?”

“Why are you questioning everything I do?” you retort, sizing him up. “You’re not - ”

* * *

_ “  _ \- the boss of me,” they grit out angrily.

Robert froze, not because of what they said; but the  _ memory  _ that came with it. That was exactly what they had said to him, back in November of 1988, when they were recovering from “the clown’s” attack. But that fear is soon replaced by the panic that takes ahold of his body.  _ They’re leaving?  _ he questions internally.

_ They can’t. I just got them back. They can’t leave -  _

“Like I said,” they sigh, “...it’s only going to be for two weeks. I’m sure you can handle yourself.”

_ Say something you idiot,  _ Robert berates himself.  _ Keep this going and they’ll be suspicious of me even more. _

“Okay,” he chokes out, hands trembling. “I...I understand.”

Even though he doesn’t understand, and he wants so badly to just grab them and capture their lips with his - to tell them that they’ll be safe with him as long as they stay with him, in Derry - he stops himself.  _ I’m just a man,  _ Robert reminds himself.  _ And they’re...the Breaker of Beams? Just a regular woman in Derry? _

_...A bit of both, perhaps? _

“Thank you,” they say with a forgiving smile, reigning Robert from his thoughts. “I promise to bring you a souvenir.”

Sensing the unease in their form, Robert nods and returns to his car, driving in silence. The rage bubbles up once more, this time directed at his unfortunate situation, and it takes all the willpower in the world (and more) to stop himself from punching a wall. He so desperately wished that he could will his hands into claws; hunt something just for the fun of it. But once more, Robert’s faced with the grim reality that he’s _ just a man. _

A man in the wrong time, wrong reality; for the right reasons.

The most that he could do: was go in his room, and scream into his pillow until his throat was raw. It had only been a month since he found them, and now they were leaving him _ again.  _ They always left him, whether it was because of their friends, or (in the other world), for that insolent boy - and now, they left because of something that wasn’t his fault, again.

_ Were you not the one who caused all of this to happen?  _ The Turtle’s voice resonates in Robert’s mind, prompting him to angrily slam a fist against the headboard of his bed.  _ Was this not the reason why you’re here? To right the wrongs you have caused? _

“Not my fault,” Robert denies, growling. “It was always someone else getting in the way.”

The Turtle doesn’t respond after that, a wave of disappointment washing from him to Robert. After thirty minutes have passed, Robert wraps his hand in a cold towel, trying to ease the burning of his hand - battered from punching the headboard too much. He considers following them to Castle Rock, but he’s already ruined his chances of them believing him. He’s thankful that they can’t read him, because if they did: everything would be ruined.

_ This isn’t the end,  _ Robert repeats in his mind.  _ It’s just two weeks, like they said. _

He tries to understand their motives, but once more, he’s unable to.

He distracts himself with his room, a comfy little spot with the intention of impressing them (once he got them here; for Robert, it was a matter of  _ when,  _ not if). There was the king-sized bed, a desk with a computer - that he rarely used, except to browse through their social media - a bookshelf along the wall. It was full of books that Robert did read, having a mild interest in his former prey, but mainly there to build his intelligent image.

There was a sapphire blue rug on the floor, contrasting against the dark wooden floorboards, with a recliner in the corner. Then, of course, was his closet - full of expensive clothes with the intention to impress...Everything he did, he did to impress them. It was working, so far, but it just wasn’t enough, Robert realized.

Thankfully, he got the basics down.

The blankets and sheets on his bed were similar to theirs. Once he realized that their second floor window was easily accessible - he usually came in the night to just watch, because  _ damn,  _ they were beautiful when they slept in barely anything - he did everything to research more about them. Their electronics, unfortunately, were password locked so the most he could do was read and just  _ watch them. _

Then came the fact that he had to  _ force  _ himself to learn how to drive (previously, he just made the car  _ move),  _ and the other harder things, like paying  _ damn  _ taxes - they were inescapable and a drag to Robert; who was truly unemployed. He did everything and everything to prepare for their reunion, but now that they were together again; Robert realized that things weren’t so clear.

After yesterday, Robert had finally confirmed the existence of Victor Criss.

When The Turtle told him that Robert would have to promise to “protect everyone,” Robert didn’t anticipate literally  _ everyone.  _ Sure, he was fine with watching over Georgie - at most, since the boy had been his first victim in 1988 - but to make sure that everyone was safe?

Robert Gray was faced with uncertainty.

_ Why is the well still there? Have the Other and The Turtle given them memories that they haven’t lived through? Why have they given them powers, but not me? If anything, I should have powers - to protect them. Unless... _ Robert frowned, unable to form a response.

_Why have you done this?_ _What are your plans?_

_...Is there something you’re not telling me?  _ Instead of expecting a reply from The Turtle (or the Other, if he was lucky enough), or his “pet” Maturin, he saunters out of the house to watch his  _ darling  _ for the remainder of the day. 

Then again, he already did that everyday.

* * *

You decided to bring Robert to the Morning Diner at the end of the day.

Having a feeling that he was going to be in a sour mood while you were gone, you wanted to calm him down before you finally left.  _ Like a child,  _ you think to yourself.  _ I always need to pamper him.  _ But Robert, despite his strange behavior, was still your friend - and you were going to treat him like one.

He was in a relatively good mood when you found him at his house, more so when you asked him to grab something to eat. Despite the fact that he was adamant on holding your hand, you kept things between you and him strict - modest. Again, you knew him for a month (despite him pouring his entire heart to you), and wanted to get to know him better.

_ He’s nice,  _ you muster up quietly,  _ but he’s still got a really long way to go. _

“I can come with you,” Robert says quietly, munching on his food. “...if you want.”

You looked at him incredulously, with wide eyes and the cogs in your brain churning with too many thoughts. Before you could form a response, you held back your tongue - considering the possibility. Yes, you were a bit withdrawn from him, but you were really forgiving and believed that Robert just had an attachment (albeit a strange one) to you.

“I can give you a tour of Castle Rock,” he adds, “and I’ll show you everything you need to know about the place. You can even cancel your hotel, because I have a house there.”

_ He just wants to get closer to me,  _ you think for a moment. Instead of responding with a question or a simple “no,” you smile and shrug your shoulders. “If you want to, I mean,” you stammer out with flushed cheeks -  _ Jesus Christ, Robert was strange but he really does make me feel like I’m worth the trouble. _

If he was really willing to allow you to stay in his home in Castle Rock, and guide you; maybe he wasn’t so bad after-all. You’re not sure if you regret, or accept your decision, because Robert’s eyes light up with the brightest stars at that moment - and he looks truly  _ adorable  _ when that happens.

His arms engulf you in a tight hug, his face buried into your neck as he mutters out “thank yous” over and over. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes your cheeks grow warmer, the PDA being too overwhelming for  _ you  _ (someone who was always over-friendly with people, sans Robert, of course) to handle. Awkwardly, you accept the hug but also relish the warmth shared; your chin resting along his shoulder. You bite back the urge to run your fingers through his hair, reminding yourself that you’re still in public.

You pull away from the hug first.

You hide your mild surprise when Robert makes a noise of protest at the loss of contact, and give him a reassuring smile. “We should go back to your place after we’re done eating,” you continue. “I’ll help you pack, y’know, because you’re going out of your way to help me...and I appreciate everything you’re going for me.”

For some reason, your words stir even more excitement inside of him: and you wonder what’s going on in his mind at that moment. Knowing him, he probably thought that he was the luckiest man in the world.

* * *

Luck was on Robert’s side once more.

Not only did they allow him to go with them to Castle Rock  _ (And was going to stay at his house there!),  _ but they were going to help him pack. To say that he was happy was an understatement. He was more than thrilled, and could not find the exact words to voice his success.

Before they could enter his home, he told them to wait outside while he settled things in his room. First and foremost, he needed to hide the bag of their clothes somewhere else in the house. Next, he needed to clear his browser history on his computer - which took him a good thirty minutes just to search a  _ video tutorial  _ (which brought them,who was still outside, a lot of concern and suspicion on what he was doing).

He took their brush and chapstick, and hid it somewhere in a closet in the other rooms. Then came the headboard, which was practically ruined in one corner from his punching. He remedied it by throwing pillows over the spot in an auspicious manner.

He already did that with the hole he made in the living room: hiding the spot with a painting he bought from the store. He was used to hiding his “outbursts,” not wanting to call anyone to fix them. Finally, when he was done rearranging his room, ignoring Maturin’s judgemental gaze, he allowed his  _ darling  _ to enter the house.

“Took you long enough,” they joke with a laugh.

_ Oh how I’d do anything to hear that laugh forever,  _ Robert thinks to himself.  _ Or, other sounds -  _

“Your room is clean,” they comment, giving it a once over. “Nice.”

Robert feels pride bubble in his chest, feeling accomplished and proud of himself. It wouldn’t be long until they’d want to  _ live  _ here themselves, and then wish to spend the rest of their life with him.  _ Oh,  _ he could imagine it now; he thought of the future everyday. Before he could fall deeper into his daydreams, he carried out a suitcase from underneath his bed - pocketing a stray photo of them sleeping (that he had forgotten to hide) in his pocket - and threw it on the bed.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Robert explains. “You can have a seat over there.”

“Are you sure? I-I mean...You’re the one going out of your way to - ”

“Don’t worry about it. I got this,” he continues proudly. “You can even take a look around the room.”

Nodding, his eyes followed their form while they checked out the room. He enjoyed the way their hips swayed, a gentle movement that he found himself watching often when they thought they were alone at their own house. He enjoyed their focused form: taking in everything. He enjoyed the  _ approval  _ in their eyes - and Robert knew that he did something right in setting the room up the way he did.

Reigning himself out of his thoughts, he begins packing to pack his things into the suitcase. In the back of his mind, he wondered what they were going to wear over at Castle Rock.  _ Maybe that one dress stored in their closet?  _ Wanting to hear their voice again, he initiates another conversation to fill the silence (sans the buzzing of Maturin’s tank filter).

“So, what do you do in your free-time?” He already knew the answer, but it was always good to ask.

“Watch movies,” they continue, “...and scroll on my phone, y’know. To pass the time?”

“What kind of movies?”

“Horror slash thriller movies. Y’know, like  _ Get Out  _ and other stuff?”

“...I’ve never seen them myself, before.” 

They turned around to gape at him, eyes wide. “You’ve never watched  _ Get Out  _ before?!” they question, staring at Robert as if he had grown a second head.

_ If I had my powers,  _ he thought,  _ I could. _

They sit down on his bed, crossing their arms.

“We definitely need to change that when we come back,” they joke. “You act like you’ve been living under a rock.”

To be fair, Robert was just not interested in typical human things - though, he did have to admit that humans made great TV shows - but he was willing to indulge if it meant making them happy. Robert nods, zipping up his suitcase and letting to roll to the door. Remembering their comment, Robert replies.

“I’m just not interested in that stuff.”

“Jeez,” they giggle. “You should at least download  _ Insta,  _ or something.”

He did, but he only used it for the sole purpose of watching over them. Everything else about the “app,” wasn’t interesting to him. Robert forces a smile on his face and shrugs, sitting beside them - meeting eyes with them.  _ By the stars, it was hard to hold back the urge to kiss them.  _ His hand twitched, wanting to hold theirs; his heart raced.

He was  _ so  _ close to kissing them yesterday, and if he could just...He leans forward, and is stopped by their hand again. Frustration builds up and he has to stop himself from grabbing them then and there, and just ravish - 

“W-Wait,” they stammer out. “What are you doing?”

“I...” Robert trails off, unable to form a reply.

“I already told you,” they sigh. “I’m not ready for that. I-I mean...You’re a great guy, and all...”

“I understand,” he mutters.

_ I don’t understand at all, to be honest. _

“But - ” they trail off.

Robert can feel himself inhale sharply when their hand moves from his chest to his cheek, their other hand resting along his neck. This gesture was all-too-familiar, and Robert - having his hopes crushed before - prepares himself when they lean forward.

To his surprise, they turn away and leave a kiss on his cheek.

_ Well,  _ he mused.  _ It’s a start, at least. _

Still, it doesn’t calm the fluttering of his heart, nor the fact that he can feel the definite rush of warmth to his cheeks. His eyes close, relishing the contact while his arms find themselves wrapped around their body in a pseudo-hug. He could imagine a phantom tingle from the mark on his chest (the one they had given him in the other world), even though he no longer had it. He finds himself wanting more once they pull away, their own cheeks flush with pink.

“...But I  _ like  _ you Robert,” they confess with a sheepish smile. “You’re a good friend,” a pause, “...and I’m willing to give you a chance.” Robert leans again to steal another kiss, but they stop him again.

“Wait,” they laugh. “It’s still too early for that, you haven’t even taken me on a first date yet.”

_ Ugh, human customs,  _ Robert thought to himself (which was ironic, considering the fact that he was one himself; he still had the mentality of the Eater of Worlds).  _ Such a drag, but if it makes them happy... _

“Fine with me,” he replies smoothly. “Are you ready to go to Castle Rock now? The lake there is  _ perfect  _ for dates.”

* * *

Now that things were somewhat “official” between you and Robert (starting just an hour ago), you had to admit: you did enjoy the feeling of kissing his cheek. Feelings of adoration filled your heart, butterflies swarming in your gut. You were a bit doubtful about yourself and him together, but you were willing to give it a go. Now that you finally got to see Robert, and his room, you were able to piece a better picture about him. He was, indeed, a sound person.

There was still the lingering question about his knowledge, or why you couldn’t read him, but you would hold off those questions for later. Now you were just set on leaving Derry to have a nice trip in Castle Rock - and this time, you wouldn’t have to be alone there. Robert had taken you to your home to gather your things and place it in his car; since he was going to be the one to drive.

“Tomorrow morning,” you explained. “That’s when we’ll go.”

And then, because you were just naturally nice and a good person, you offered him to stay the night at your place (just to avoid the inconvenience of him having to go back and forth from his house to yours). As expected, Robert didn’t hesitate to take up that offer, and you allowed him access to the guest room downstairs.

To your surprise, after showering and dressing into more comfortable attire, you found Robert in the kitchen: making dinner. The smell was amazing, you had to admit that, and you could practically imagine what it would be to wake up to that everyday -  _ Hold on,  _ you restrain yourself.

_ Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet. _

“What are you making?” you ask, tilting your head.

Robert turns around, started at your sudden presence. The sleeves of his turtleneck are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his pale arms, and funny enough - he was wearing one of your aprons. Robert relaxed soon after, grabbing the pan to reveal the meal to you.

“I hope you don’t mind that I used your lamb,” he continues, “in the fridge. I’m searing it with some sauteéd brussels sprouts and...” Robert paused, checking the label from the opened pack of - “...Portabella mushrooms.”

“It smells  _ amazing,”  _ you compliment, brushing past him. “I’ll get the plates.”

After setting up the table, you watched Robert finish cooking, amazed by his cooking abilities. While he plated the food you returned to the dining table with a bottle of wine in hand. Although you weren’t a drinker, it was a 21st birthday gift from Howard and you haven’t used it yet, and you assumed that Robert would like it - going by the belief that older people liked wine.

“Do you want a glass?” you question, holding up the bottle by its neck.

“You drink?” he retorts, shocked.

“No,” you laugh. “It’s just a birthday gift.”

“Water’s fine with me then,” he answers.

Nodding, you return the bottle back into its spot in the kitchen and spend the rest of your night chatting and laughing with Robert. In a way, this was kind of like a date, more so when it was in your home, and you felt yourself enjoying the atmosphere when talking to him. What he lacked in understanding social norms, he made up with  _ wanting  _ to learn - wanting to be better. You liked that in a person; a willingness to change.

Robert seemed like he didn’t do much with his life before, but you could possibly change that. After cleaning up dinner and having a lengthy discussion in the history of movies and TV shows, it was time for bed (after-all, Robert had to prepare for the two-hour drive to Castle Rock). Feeling brave, you kissed him on the cheek again, wanting to feel that warmth in your chest - and bid him goodnight.

* * *

_ September 20th _

You woke up to the smell of French toast.

The rich, cinnamon smell had roused you from sleep - hunger nagging at your senses. It took you a moment to remember that Robert was probably making something, having forgotten that you allowed him to stay the night, and you relaxed soon after. You went through your morning routine, putting on a blue, knee-length floral sundress, and sauntered into the kitchen.

“Morning,” you greet softly.

“Good morning - ” Robert paused, taking in your appearance. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh, I-I - Thanks,” you stammer, blushing.

Doing the same for him, you took in Robert’s appearance. He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, his hair swept back and slightly damp from a shower. He moved to and fro around the kitchen, his focus heavily brought on the food he was making.

“Here,” you say, taking the pan from him. “You can go set up the table this time, while I’ll finish the rest.”

“Alright,” Robert nods. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. And you?”

_ “Amazing.  _ Your beds are really comfortable.”

You let a fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your hand, which was holding a fork. “What can I say? I’m a girl who likes comfort,” you reply, turning the bread over. Wanting to add more to the mix, you decided to scramble some eggs on the side, setting everything on the counter.

Robert hums. “Have you ever had anyone else stay over before?”

“Just my uncle and his family. I’ve never - uhm,” you pause, embarrassed.

“You’ve never what?”

“Never had anyone else over,” you continue, “in a relationship, I mean...You’re my first.”

_ Out of all the words I could’ve used,  _ you groan internally.

Well, it wasn’t a lie: Robert was the first person you’ve ever been in a “true” relationship with, even if you had just started it yesterday. After a month of getting to know him, and the fact that the two of you shared knowledge of the unknown, you were treading into relatively new territory by becoming his  _ girlfriend. _

Robert’s eyes widen, and you can see... _ relief  _ in his eyes?

“I am?” he asks, surprised. “You’ve never been with anyone else before?”

“Nope,” you let out a miserable laugh. “It’s sad, right?”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s nice...I’m  _ really  _ happy that I get to be your first.” Robert stopped for a moment to help you bring the food to the table, resting his hands on your shoulders to look at you; a serious look in his eyes.

“Wait,” he blurts out. “Does this mean that you’ve never had your first kiss?”

“Y-Yeah...?” A hot flush of embarrassment rose to your cheeks. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I’ve never had my own before,” he confesses.

“Really? Surely there was another - ”

“I told you,” Robert says. “You’re the only one that matters to me.”

Before you could retort, he leans forward (for a brief moment, you thought he was going to steal your first kiss) and kisses your cheek: his plump lips resting there for a moment. You let out a gasp of surprise, giddiness and warmth spreading all over. He presses another kiss, this one along your jawline; meriting a shudder from you. It was as if he knew  _ exactly  _ what you liked, even if you didn’t know these things about yourself.

...You could  _ definitely  _ get used to this.

“We sh-should eat,” you mutter, “b-b...before the food gets cold.”

Robert pulls away, a smug smirk on his lips. “Whatever you say, darling.”

He heads over to the dining room, leaving you flustered and shocked - your face probably red from all of the blushing.  _ Darling,  _ you tested the endearment in your head.  _ It’s simple. I like it. _

With a smile you followed Robert into the dining room, and went through the morning pretty quickly. You dropped some cookies off at the Denbroughs’ house, making sure to feed Holland, and met with Robert outside: who was leaning against the hood of his car.

“Ready?” he asks with a smile.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Thank you, by the way. I know you just left Castle Rock a month ago but - ”

“Like I said,” he interrupts. “It’s no problem. You’re worth it.”

“Oh shut up,” you mutter with a smile, slapping his shoulder playfully.

Hearing him let out a series of laughs in response, you entered his car, feeling better than you did this past week - heck, this past  _ year.  _ Maybe, letting Robert into your life was for the best. Maybe his strangeness was exactly the normal you needed in your life; a good distraction from everything.

You watched as everything seemed to blur past you as Robert drove, taking in everything around you as if you were going to see it for the last time. It was almost surreal, to unlatch yourself from this town - but things felt better when you were with Robert. From the corner of your eye, you could see Robert smiling: a genuine expression that made your heart warm up with joy.

To elevate the mood even more, you decided to put on some of your favorite music, relishing the moments when Robert enjoyed some of them as well (though, he was still adamant on his classical music). Finally, after twenty minutes of driving, your eyes trailed to the town sign, reading it with happy eyes.

> NOW LEAVING DERRY, MAINE


	5. Castle Rock I: Home Territory I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You were in the woods, running._

## INTERLUDE

* * *

_We both know that it's not fashionable to love me_  
 _But you don't go 'cause truly there's nobody for you but me_  
\- Lana Del Rey, “Honeymoon”

* * *

Apparently, Robert had taken the scenic route to Castle Rock.

He drove through the winding road that passed through the mountain, trees whizzing by as he drove by a steady rate. You had fallen in and out of sleep, having Robert nudge you awake when he stopped by a small town to grab some gas. “You want anything?” he asked you in a soft voice. “I won’t be long, but I’m going to head into the gas station real quick.”

“Don’t need anything,” you muttered. “...’m tired...”

“Yeah, sure. I got it. Sleep tight, darling.”

You felt Robert’s hand caress your cheek (and admittedly, you were shocked that he did that; since your eyes were closed) before he exited the car without a second word. Shuffling in your seat, you rubbed your eyes and groaned, unbuckling your seat-belt to stretch your arms and legs. Your tired eyes tracked Robert, who sauntered into the gas station.

You glanced at your surroundings, feeling relieved to see tall trees tower around the rest stop. Exhaustion wracked your body, but somehow you still found the motivation to get up and out of the car. The smell of spruce and morning dew filled your lungs, a smile forming on your face. You snapped a few photos of your surroundings, capturing the moment.

“Enjoying yourself?” Robert asks from behind.

“Yeah. It feels nice to be out of Derry.”

“I can agree,” he nods. “Derry’s been apart of my life for so long, that I’m not used to this.”

“I mean, you have been out of Derry for what - thirteen years?”

“Still,” Robert laughs. “Derry is my life.”

“I’ve never heard someone love Derry so much,” you joke.

“Well, I’m not like other people.”

“I know,” you reply, lacing his hand with yours. “...that’s what I like about you.”

Robert’s eyes lit up at your comment, his hand squeezing yours. The two of you stay like that for a moment, staring into each others’ eyes with your hands linked together. Now, you realize why he loved it whenever you held his hand -  _ It felt nice.  _ The longer you gazed at him, the more you wanted to  _ not  _ let go. But eventually, your phone buzzed, distracting you from the moment. You looked away sheepishly, reaching for your phone.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I need to - ?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robert nods, letting go of your hand. “Go ahead.”

Checking your phone, you frowned when you realized that it was a chime from your security camera (the one placed at your front door). Opening the app, you relaxed when you saw Georgie waiting in front of the camera. You held onto the “microphone” button and spoke into it. “Hey Georgie,” you call from the app. “What are you doing right now?”

_ “Hi Miss King!”  _ Georgie gushed, waving profusely at you.

You giggled in response, finding his mannerisms to be adorable.

_ “Where are you going again?”  _ he asks.

“Out of town,” you continue. “Castle Rock, to be exact.”

_ “Awww! I wish you didn’t have to go so long! I miss you!” _

“I miss you too, kid.”

_ “Bill says that he misses you too!” _

“Does he now?” you question, raising a brow - even though Georgie couldn’t see it. Again, you barely knew Bill enough to say with confidence that he was one of your closest friends; so to hear Georgie (who rarely spoke any lies) say that was a bit surprising.

_ “Mhm! Mr. Gray is with you, right?” _

“Yup,” you glance at Robert, who was putting the gas in. “He’s here.”

_ “Is he your boyfriend?”  _ Georgie asks curiously.  _ “I saw you holding hands with him.” _

“Yeah, he - ” you pause, blushing. “Yeah, he’s my b-boyfriend.”

_ “Aw! Do you love him?!” _

“Kinda early for that, kiddo,” you laughed. “Only time will tell.”

_ “Well, I gotta now. See you later, bye!” _

“Bye Georgie,” you reply, exiting the app.

While you were waiting in the car for Robert, you decided to connect your phone to the car to play a movie that you had downloaded. Robert struck you as the type to enjoy horror movies, or ones that messed with your mind - psychological thrillers. It made sense, considering what majors and minors he chose at Harvard, but nonetheless, when he finished pumping the gas; he wasn’t too interested in the movie.

I’m going back to sleep,” you mutter, grabbing a pillow from the back. “Wake me up if you want me to drive.”

“No need darling,” Robert replies. “I’ll take care of you.”

* * *

After another hour of sleep, Robert finally wakes you up again.

Letting out a quiet groan, you shuffle in your seat, eyes trailing over to meet Robert’s soft gaze. It’s around eleven thirty in the morning now, and you feel a bit groggy after sitting in the car for a while. “We’re here,” Robert says.

Nodding, you rub your eyes and allow them to adjust to the light. You’re met with the sight of a lovely little town across the bridge, people going about their day. You sit straighter to get a better look, rolling down the window to breathe in fresh hair. Castle Rock was nothing like Derry (on the outside, at least), in fact, older and bigger than the small town.

Many of the buildings had a colonial feel to it, as opposed to Derry; which was made around the beginning of the twentieth century. But what it lacked in modernism, it made up for with beauty in nature. Robert drove through the main streets of Castle Rock, showing you all of the buildings from the Town Square - to the white chapel that everyone went to on Sunday. Castle Rock was more religious than Derry, surprisingly, and there weren’t many other religious establishments aside from the chapel.

On the outskirts of the city, there were factories and old mills from when Castle Rock was first founded. Of course, there were the suburban areas - which was where Robert was driving you to now. “My house is down the street,” he explains, pointing to one of the two-stories; all of the houses were spread out, but his was near the woods.

_ Isolated. _

“That’s where we’ll be staying.”

“I can’t believe you have  _ two  _ houses and a car,” you utter, amazed. “Where do you get your money from, Mr. Unemployed?”

“I have what my parents left for me,” Robert smiles. “They made savings accounts that built up interest for me. Once I graduated, I took everything out and saved it for my own use. It was more than enough, especially since my education was paid through state grants and scholarships. As for the car, it’s used, surprisingly. And well - my houses, they’re old, for the most part, and have a...bad reputation.”

“What’s with you and haunted houses?”

“They’re the cheapest,” Robert shrugs. “...and I don’t think ghosts can harm me.”

“But you believe in them?” you question, raising a brow.

“Hey, there’s no harm in having a little faith in the mysterious.”

He pulled into the driveway, and you quickly went to the trunk to gather your things (as well as Robert’s), while he unlocked the door. To your surprise, he brought Maturin with him - which he explained by saying that he had a tank already in Castle Rock. You were met with a comfortable atmosphere once more, like in his room back in Derry.

There were two sets of couches, a coffee table, and a variety of personal items.  _ Ah, so this is where he kept all of his stuff,  _ you realize.  _ Back in Derry, he didn’t have a lot of pictures of him and his family...  _ You left the suitcases and bags near the couches, taking a look around the room. Your gaze settled on a rounded picture frame - containing a picture of him and two elders; his parents.

His father was a man with a square jaw and a hard gaze, with blue eyes and blonde hair. His mother, however, was the one who you realized that Robert got his features from. She had refined facial features, more prominent than your own, and had short brown hair with brown eyes; which is what Robert had.

Setting the frame back down on the counter, you entered the dining room and kitchen. There wasn’t much to look from, except for the vase of flowers that had were lively - but withering - reminding you that Robert had been here just a little over two months ago. Robert followed you, eager to read your thoughts on his home.

_ It smells just like him,  _ you think with a slight blush.  _ Everything. _

“I like it,” you smile. “This place is very welcoming.”

“Not as welcoming as your house,” Robert retorts, pointing upstairs. “C’mon. I’ll show you around.”

You followed him and found out that there was one bathroom, one guest room, and a pantry downstairs. Upstairs, however, there were two baths (one in the “masters” bedroom, and the other out in the hallway), two guest rooms, and the master’s. He took the master’s bedroom, and even suggested that you should stay there.

Of course, you declined, telling him that you weren’t ready for that yet.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent unpacking and lounging in the living room.

Thankfully, Robert had a TV so you helped recommend him all sorts of shows and movies for him to choose from. Jokingly, you told him that the  _ Shrek  _ movies were classics - which was how you found yourself sitting beside Robert, watching the four Shrek movies. You couldn’t believe that Robert was watching the movies with a straight face, as if he was literally taking in the entire films for what they were.

After that, you and Robert watched the first few episodes of Game of Thrones; which Robert enjoyed... _ a lot.  _ You were glad that he was beginning to enjoy himself - which you found both endearing and adorable. It was nice to just rest on the couch with Robert’s arm around you. You still saw him as your best friend, but as the hours passed by, you were starting to see him as something more.

“What did you want to do tomorrow?” Robert asks.

“Can we just stay in?” you continue, “I just want to relax before we do everything.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” he laughs. “Y’know, we can always  _ not  _ leave Castle Rock.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high, cowboy.”

“Cowboy...?” Robert questions.

“It’s a joke,” you giggle. “You’ll understand later.”

He grumbled when you wiggled out of his hold, stretching your limbs while a tired yawn left your lips. You walked over to the screen-door near the backyard, staring out at the woods - which surrounded Castle Rock, like Derry. You could see Robert’s reflection behind you, his hands massaging your shoulders.

“God, that feels good,” you groan.

“What do you think is in the woods?” Robert asks suddenly.

Opening your eyes, you turned around, tilting your head.  _ What is he talking about? _

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused. “Is...is there something - ?”

“...dangerous in there?” he finishes for you. “Just your typical bear and whatnot, but...”

“ - you think that there’s something in there?”

“I’m not sure,” Robert says. “I...I can just feel that something bad is here.”

“Maybe it’s...” You trail off, remembering your discussion with him in the basement. A frown pulled at your features, matching your now-sour mood. Sighing, you brushed out of Robert’s hold and headed up the stairs, not wanting to talk about this anymore. 

You were here to relax, not worry.

* * *

_ You were in the woods, running. _

_ Running from someone - no, not someone; something. _

_ Your lungs burned and your legs ached, your feet cold from the snow that seeped into the ends of your jeans and shoes. Your hair was matted to your face from sweat, feeling burning hot despite the snow around you. You passed by dead trees and and harsh twigs, stumbling on your feet as you continued to run. What you were running from, you didn’t know. _

_ You were afraid, and you were confused. _

_ Your foot caught on a twig, a sick mockery of a cliché that made you cry out in fear and pain. Snow covered your clothes and your cheeks were red, with chapped lips and dry tears. Panic gripped at your heart, and you stumbled forward, continuing your trek until you reached the end of a cliff. The sun was barely rising overhead, puffs of air leaving your lips. _

_ You looked down at your gloved hands, the fabric only available to someone wealthy. Your brown eyes scanned the environment with confusion - for some reason, you couldn’t help but remember that it was September...or was it October? So why was it freezing cold, snowing, like it was the chilly month of December? _

_ “Henry!” a voice yells out. “Henry stop!” _

_ Frantic, you turned towards the origin of the sound, breathing heavily with wide eyes. Your gaze fell on two people standing (the smaller one running further into the lake) on the frozen lake not too far from you, and for some reason, you couldn’t help but feel...angry? Confused? Full of grief? At the same time, you reminded yourself that this was a dream, that this was a figment of someone’s imagination. _

_ This wasn’t real. _

Once more, you found yourself gasping for breath, clutching the sheets. Fear and panic gripped at your heart, and you stumbled out of bed - remembering that you weren’t alone. You needed someone to hold you, to tell you that everything was going to be okay: and so, the first person you thought of, was Robert.

You stumbled out of the room, heaving while wiping tears away from your eyes. Your feet carry you faster to his room faster than you expected, knocking on his door softly - afraid to wake him up. “Robert,” you call in a hoarse voice. “Robert open the door, please.”

You heard Robert call out your name in question, before you heard his footsteps against the floorboards. Unlocking the door, you fell into his arms as soon as he opened the door: breathing heavily against his chest. Even though the dream wasn’t as... _ terrifying  _ as the other ones, you were still left feeling panicked and confused.

“What happened, darling?” he asks, rubbing the back of your head.

Through the darkness you could see him squinting, just as perplexed as you were. You couldn’t form a coherent response, muttering out, “bad dream” to him. You held onto him for comfort, and not caring about anything else, you asked him if you could sleep in his bed. Thankfully, he said yes, and soon enough, you were resting in Robert’s bed.

His arms were wrapped protectively around you, while your face was buried into his neck; his body acting as a protective shield. You listened to his heartbeat against his pulse, hearing him hum quietly. Before long, you were deep in sleep - feeling more at peace than you ever did before in your lonely life.

* * *

When you finally wake up, you can’t help but smile when you see Robert’s face in front of yours. His hair fell over his face, making him look more like the innocent puppy that he acted like - than the smartest man you’ve ever met. You fell back against him, relishing the contact and warmth shared.

This feels  _ really  _ nice.

Everything felt surreal, to be honest.

Never before, could you ever imagine that you’d be here - in the arms of someone who genuinely cared for you - and the longer you thought about it, the more your gut began to fill with butterflies. The hold the two were in was so  _ intimate  _ that you weren’t sure to be embarrassed by it, or to embrace it. You shuffle in Robert’s hold, rousing him from sleep.

His eyes open; full of love.

“Mm, g’morning.

“Morning,” you reply. “How are you?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he huffs. He moves a tentative hand to rest it along your waist, leaving it there when he sees that you don’t recoil. He continues, “But...I’m fine, how are you, darling?”

_ He likes calling me that,  _ you muse.  _ It’s cute, really. _

“I’m okay,” you say. “Last night was just...”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do, but it was so  _ confusing,  _ Robert.”

Silence, and then, “...it’s okay if you don’t want to talk.”

You meet his gaze once more, appreciating that he wasn’t going to push you into talking. Sure, you could see the curiosity and concern in his eyes - and maybe it was  _ wrong  _ for you to not share such crucial information - but you couldn’t bring your mind to focus on the dream. You closed your eyes, moving closer to Robert: your head against his chest.

“This feels nice,” you mutter quietly. “Relaxing.”

“You still want to head out today?”

You shake your head. “No. I just want to stay like this.”

“Alright,” he says. “Whatever you want, darling.”

The two of you stay like that for thirty more minutes - caressing each other and seeking comfort and warmth. It’s comforting to listen to the steady beat of his heart, to feel like he’s the only person in the world. You wonder what he’s thinking about and try to pry again; you still can’t read him. You wonder when he began to have feelings for you - and your best guess was that he had them ever since you knocked on his door - the day you met.

_ “It’s you,”  _ you remembered him whispering to you.

You wonder if he said that because he thought you were the love of his life (which, in itself, wasn’t bad: it was just surprising and strange). You didn’t really see anything in yourself that merited such a reaction from someone, but to each their own. You weren’t a bombshell beauty, but you knew how to take care of people - and you felt happy taking care of people.

Then again, you had a similar view of Robert.

He was strange and odd (at most times), but he was also very kind and seemed to do everything in his power to impress you. At first, you did find his mannerisms and attitude to be odd - again, you didn’t really see anything in yourself that would make someone fall “head over heels” over you - but you also found that charming. He saw something in you that you couldn’t see yourself; he believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself.

He was your best friend, even though you knew him for a month and a half. He was the best thing that happened to you in Derry, having lived a dreary life and an unfulfilling educational career. Robert was just the thing that you needed to freshen up your mundane life; and you love it. He was amazing and wonderful.

And now, he was yours.

Albeit you were still going through the motions, Robert being your first “partner,” but you had faith in yourself and him. Things were a bit rocky with the two of you having a middle ground in being aware of Derry’s (and now, Castle Rock) paranormal nature; but, that was easily made up through long conversations, and comfort.

You moved your legs so that they were intertwined with Robert’s, the fabric of his sweatpants comforting against your legs. You tilted your head upwards, meeting Robert’s gaze again - feeling a bit flustered when you realized that his eyes were trained on you still.

_ Was he staring at me the entire time?  _ you question.

“When we get back,” he says, “I’m going to apply to work at the library.”

“You should,” you trail off. “Or - Y’know, work at a museum out of Derry?”

“Why out of Derry? It’s not so bad there.”

“Trust me,” you snort. “You can easily get a job out of Derry, it pays better.”

“Like where? Somewhere in Europe?”

You snort. “I didn’t mean out of the country, but that works too...Why?”

“I dunno,” Robert shrugs, shifting so that the two of you were laying side-by-side in bed. He lays on his side so that he can still have his arm wrapped around your body, causing you to smile. “We should travel around the world.”

_ We,  _ you repeat in your head.  _ He wants me to travel with him. _

You find yourself smiling like a love-sick idiot. “I like that idea,” you reply honestly, and then shuffle out of bed. “I’m going to shower,” you continue, “...and then make breakfast downstairs. I’ll see you then.”

“Wait,” he calls, taking your hand in his.

Startled, you turn around to meet his gaze. Robert sits upright and leans over, pressing a kiss along your cheek - close enough to touch the corner of your lips - before letting you go. Blushing, you mutter sweet nothings to him before leaving his room and gathering your things.  _ That  _ definitely got you thinking about kissing him (on the lips), and you had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long until that happened.

What would it be like?

How would it feel?

Would you enjoy it?

Your head spun with questions as you showered, using body-wash and shampoo that smelled an awful lot like Robert.  _ This is his house you dummy,  _ you reason.  _ Of course everything here would be used by him. _

When you were done you changed into a loose black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and slipped a teal hoodie over your body. Finding that the house was still quiet, you checked Robert’s room to find that he was knocked out back into sleep. Giggling, you closed the door and headed downstairs - phone in hand - to continue your morning.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much in the fridge, considering the fact that Robert had moved to Derry - and he had probably tossed all of the perishable items before they could go to waste. You closed the fridge and shuffled through the pantry, your surroundings foreign but familiar. Robert’s house was stylized similar to the one in Derry, so not everything was different. Heck, he even had a back-door view to the woods - like his house on 29 Neibolt Street; which had a view of the Barrens and the abandoned train yards.

You settled on a bag of pretzels, snacking on it while you rested on the couch, scrolling through your phone.  _ Maybe Robert and I should go to a diner,  _ you think to yourself.

_ I’m sure there’s a place around here... _

After an hour or so had passed, you heard Robert trudging down the stairs, running a hand through wet locks of hair - a towel hanging over his left arm. You tossed your phone to the table, giving Robert a sly grin.

“Good morning,” you add, snickering, “again.”

He chuckles. “Morning, darling.”

“I figured we should head out,” you continue, “to eat.”

“There’s a breakfast diner down the street,” Robert says. “They should be open right now.”

You nod, smiling. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really apologize for the late/lack of updates! i've been really busy lately, and with my parents taking a trip out of the country, i'll be having less time to work on this series, and most of my time will have to be dedicated to helping them run their business while they're gone. in addition to that, updates may come less now that i'm going to put more time into my actual series—the one i plan to publish—so that'll add onto the lack of updates.
> 
> i'll try to update as soon as i can.
> 
> please leave comments though! i really appreciate it when you leave them! <3


	6. Castle Rock I: Home Territory II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By the stars, I love them so much._

_Move baby, move baby, I'm in love_  
 _I'm in love, I'm in love (I'm in love, I'm in love)_  
\- Lana Del Rey, “West Coast”

* * *

Despite Castle Rock’s eerie history and vibe, the people seemed relatively nice to you. The diner that Robert brought you to had a warm atmosphere; with people who interacted with each other warmly. Of course, you did grab the questioning attention from several people - but with Robert, who seemed to be quite reputable in Castle Rock (despite him living there for only a year), things weren’t so bad. The server who helped you and Robert was also pretty nice, and you felt better about being here.

Still, the dream that you had last night didn’t ease your nerves any well.

“I was running,” you explain to Robert. “...in the woods.”

“Were you running from something?” he asks, both intrigued and afraid.

“I-I...I don’t know,” you shake your head. You play with your food a little to pass the time, dipping the last of your toast into the spilled egg yolks.  _ Hey, at least the food was good enough to lift your mood.  _ “My mind was in another place...like my heart was racing, and all I could feel was just...”

“Fear,” Robert finishes for you.

You nod, feeling uneasy. “But at the end, I saw two people on the lake.”

“What do you mean  _ on  _ the lake...?”

“It was winter-time; everything was covered in snow.”

Robert nods in understanding.

“What happened next?”

“One of them called out to each other,” you shrug.

“What did they say?”

“I...” you trail off, frowning. “I can’t remember the name.”

“That’s weird,” Robert mutters.

He shuffles in his seat, dragging his hand over his mouth before he lets it rest on the table - his meal finished already. Neither of you can think of anything else to say, and the rest of your time at the diner is spent eating. Your thoughts were spinning; frantic. The dream was as mysterious and more vague than the one that you had in Derry.

You didn’t have this problem when you moved to Maryland (with your uncle), so you could only conclude what you had summarized before: that Castle Rock and Derry weren’t good places to be in. Castle Rock, however, seemed full of mystery, whereas Derry felt like a horrible place: full of awful people.

At least, in Castle Rock, there was always something going on. Derry was a town that thrived off of routine; that much was evident with your own life watching Georgie and staying at home. Everyone knew what everyone bought at the store, and if you were given the chance to - you could list everyone’s grocery list.

Then again, you had an advantage of “reading” people, but you never did that unless you felt that it was necessary to do so. With Robert, you were just curious and suspicious of him; unfortunately, you were unable to read him.

You still wonder why you couldn’t read him.

Your gaze met Robert’s - who stared back at you with a questioning gaze. Even though you couldn’t read him, Robert displayed himself through his actions and body language. You could practically feel the  _ love  _ off of him; the way he felt for you. The way his eyes softened and his smile turned dopey. It made your own heart flutter with excitement, seeing him so head-over-heels for you.

You were still going through the motions in understanding everything, this relationship you had with him, but one thing’s for sure - you felt something for Robert too. Hopefully, that “something” will turn into something more.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“I’m thinking about you,” he answers, continuing. “You’re so beautiful.”

Flush with surprise and embarrassment, you turn your head away, hiding your face in your hair. You hear him chuckle in response, which only further pushes you into your embarrassment. Everything about him was pleasant - his laugh, his smile,  _ everything. _ ..and everything he did; he did for you.

“Oh, shut up Robert,” you mutter.

“It’s the truth,” Robert says. He leans on the table, resting his chin in the palms of his hands: giving you that classic “in love” pose. His brown eyes are blown out with a heavy focus on you, his attention towards you evident. “There’s no one else I’d say that to but you,” he states in a soft voice, tilting his head.

_ Jesus Christ, he really does look like a love-sick puppy. _

“I’m not that great,” you dismiss. “But...I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“So,” Robert starts. “What do you want?”

“Well, what do  _ you  _ want?” you retort playfully.

“You,” he replies quietly. “I want you.”

If you could see your face, it would probably be pink and red. You huff quietly, feigning annoyance even though you were smiling. You push your plates of food to the side, leaning over the table to take one of Robert’s hands, holding it tightly.

“I like you a lot,” you murmur, butterflies swarming in your gut.

Robert smile widens as he kisses the back of your hand.

You like the way he rests his cheek against your joined hands; nuzzling into your touch. It’s adorable and makes your heart beat faster than before. Usually you were the one who displayed affection openly, but to be the one on the receiving end - it made your heart warm. Robert continues, his voice softer than before.

“I  _ like  _ you too.”

The two of you stay like that, smiling and gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s not until your phone buzzes again, do you separate. While Robert lets out a quiet whine, barely noticeable to anyone else, you give him an apologetic smile and fish for your phone. Looking at your screen, you smile.

“It’s just Georgie,” you explain. “He sent me a picture.”

Pulling up the text message, you show the photo (which was Georgie and Bill making paper boats; with the former positioning the phone “selfie style”) to Robert - stifling a giggle when Robert takes the phone in his hands, his hands clasping over each other with how small your phone was. He squints, his face showing a mute emotion that makes you wonder what he’s thinking about. His brows are furrowed and an invisible frown is present on his face.

He averts his gaze back to you, putting on a smile. “He likes paper boats, doesn’t he?” he questions. There’s a strange lilt in his voice, the type of response that makes you feel melancholic and sad;  _ mourning. _

“He does,” you nod, staring into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

* * *

Robert feels anxiety seep into his heart, a feeling that was familiar but incredibly unwelcome. The way that they stare at him is intense, their mute red eyes peering into his dark brown eyes. He can feel the dull tug of their mind trying to pry into his - thankfully, they still can’t. Still, they somehow manage to intimidate Robert, making him feel as if the weight of the universe is on his shoulders.

Although he’s still towering over them, even while sitting in the booth, their gaze makes him want to hunch his shoulders and tell them everything that they want to know about him. He can feel his throat go tight, his hands clenching the phone in his hands, unease settling into his mind.

Now he knows what they felt whenever he used to stare at them, prying into their mind with ease. But now, he couldn’t do that  _ (fuck The Turtle for not giving me my powers) _ \- and now he was the one who was having to submit under the pressure.

“I’m fine,” he forces out, smiling.

It’s hard to say that when the picture on the phone is that of two kids: one who he hated, and one who he  _ (ate)  _ murdered. The small paper boat in Georgie’s hands only makes Robert’s smile grow thin. Still, he hides the trembling in his hands and brings his focus to them - handing the phone back to them.

“Are you sure?” they pry.

He nods. “I’m alright, darling.”

Thankfully, they don’t push on his unease, leaning back in their seat and taking their phone. “Do you want to go now?” they ask, tilting their head. “We can go back home now. It’s fine if you don’t want - ”

“That’s fine with me,” Robert replies, chuckling.

Rising from his seat, he fumbles through his wallet to sign the check that the waiter left prior, tossing a twenty over it. Robert can feel the unease fading away as soon as his fingers lace with theirs, the contact soothing and comforting. He’d do anything to  _ not  _ stop holding their hand; to always be blessed by their presence.

_ By the stars, I love them so much. _

* * *

After the diner, you and Robert had stopped by the town square, holding hands with each other.

It felt incredibly liberating to be out of Derry, with someone who you were starting to feel more and more adoration for. Even though you were still pushing through a confusing time in your life - finding just who you were and what your place was - you could definitely feel a reassurance that there would be someone there for you while this happened.

Smiling, you rest your head on Robert’s arm (him being a little too tall for you to rest it on his shoulder), and held his hand tighter. You felt him do the same, hearing an exhilarated sigh come from him. It was comforting to just be in his presence; even if he seemed a bit overprotective at times.

“Happy?” you utter, looking up at him.

“More than that,” he answers, his eyes soft.

To make his point, he gently brushes his thumb against the back of your hand - leaning forward to press a kiss on your temple. You could feel him smile against your forehead before he removes his face from yours, continuing your walk. He removes his fingers from yours to wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“So,” you start softly, “...what did you used to do here in Castle Rock?”

“Stayed at home, mostly,” he shrugs. “I read books.”

“Pfft, you remind me of my uncle.”

“I-I mean - I don’t read as much books as him.”

You turn to him, raising a brow. “How do you know that he reads a lot?”

“You told me, remember?” Robert says nonchalantly.

You  _ don’t  _ remember, but there’s a lot of things that you’ve probably told Robert by now. You simply nod in response and don’t push any further, taking in your surroundings again. The trees around were beautiful; the leaves ranging from shades of green, yellow, and red. It wouldn’t be long until September and October passed - bringing forth the snow and blizzards.

It would be nice to cuddle around the fireplace, with Robert.

There were a lot of things that you imagined doing with him once you came back to Derry; and you were excited for that time to come. A smile broke out on your face again, and a quick check on your phone told you that it was a little past one in the afternoon.

“Should we head back?” you suggest.

“Yeah,” Robert nods, huffing. “I’m still tired from driving.”

“It was only two hours,” you laugh, poking his cheek. “I could’ve driven for you.”

“But I like taking care of you, darling.”

That prompts you to flush pink in the face, hearing him let out a soft laugh. Your face grows even warmer, feeling the hand he settled on your waist trail up and down on your right-side, his fingers pressing into your hip. Holding back a shudder, you glance at Robert for a moment to see that he was smirking at you.

“Is this okay?” he asks, genuinely concerned. “If it’s not then - ”

“No, no, no!” you interrupt, shaking your head. You wrap your left arm around his middle so that you’re both holding each other, smiling up at him.

“I like this,” you continue. “It’s nice.”

Robert’s smile returns. “Good. I like this too.”

You make your way back to his car, and on the drive back to his house - the two of you hold hands again; your left hand laced with his right hand. His hand was warm, comforting even against your relatively cold skin. You let out a quiet hum to show your enjoyment, your gaze averting away from Robert to look out of the window.

There was still a little bit of fog that had shrouded Castle Rock, making it a bit hard to see the houses in the distance - especially with how far apart each house was spaced in between each other. There was a lone house at the end of the street, reaching up a small hill; and it seemed to be occupied, judging by the lone car in the front.

“Do you talk to people often?” you clarify, giggling. “Here, I mean.”

“Occasionally,” he shrugs. “But again, I spent most of my time at home.” Robert pauses mid-sentence to turn a corner, his eyes wandering away from the road and to you for a moment - as if he was afraid that you were going to disappear from his sight. His hand holds yours a little tighter to prove your silent suspicions, a melancholic look taking over his eyes. He trails off, “...but there’s one person who irks me a little.”

Robert was a calm and collected man, so for him to claim that, had surprised you.

You turn to him, tilting your head. “Who?”

“Dale Lacy,” Robert says, shrugging. “He’s the warden of Shawshank Prison.”

“And what did he - Lacy,” you correct yourself, “do to make you so upset?”

“He’s weird,” he states simply. “He looks at me weird and always talks under his breath whenever I’m around him...it’s weird, and I don’t like it. He looks at me as if he’s seen me before, but I’ve only met him one time.” A pause, “...I think he was following me home one time.”

“Really?” you question with wide eyes.

That scared you, to say the least.

It was nerve-wracking to hear such an experience from Robert, who was probably the last person to have that happen to him. Even though he seemed frail and lean on the outside, that didn’t mean that he was still away from prying eyes. His tall stature and hooded eyes made him intimidating - you weren’t an exception to that feeling, especially when you first met him.

If anything, the last thing someone would do to Robert: is follow him.

“Why was he following you?” you pry.

Robert shrugs, frowning. “I don’t know, honestly.”

“Does he give you any trouble?”

“Aside from him following me?” Robert continues, “No, not really...not since I left Castle Rock.”

“Jeez,” you shudder. “Stalkers are weird.”

“Y-Yeah,” Robert says, chuckling nervously. “They are.”

_ The poor guy,  _ you think to yourself.  _ Talking about what happened to him must make him feel uncomfortable. _

To ease the atmosphere a bit, you turn on the radioThankfully, Robert - who was slowly acquiring a taste for modern music - didn’t change it; lifting the mood by thrumming his fingers to the beat of the pop song.

Checking your phone, there wasn’t much that had updated from your feed. Most of the pictures were of your friends post-high school graduation, who you (unfortunately) hadn’t seen in person - but still talked to them via apps. Most of your friends (both from high school and UNI) were beginning to do extraordinary things with their lives.

Some of them were continuing their education for another four to six years; some of them went to start up their own businesses; and some of them decided to lay back, but made their degrees worthwhile. To be honest you were a  _ bit  _ jealous that most of them were so proactive in their lives, but you were satisfied with what you had.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

_ September 28th _

It was amusing to watch Robert marvel over movies and shows.

“I don’t do those things,” is how he explained his lack of interest in media.

If there was one thing that you were going to do, it was to get Robert to download at least  _ one  _ social media app; and to make an account with it. He didn’t even need to actively use it - you just wanted him to have the  _ experience  _ of making one. Just because you were nice, you let him use your Netflix account to watch whatever he wanted.

He was getting the hang of using a phone more, and you managed to convince him to download a few things on his phone. You were still reeling over the fact that he paid for his phone, data, and a computer (you remembered seeing one in his room back in Derry) - even though he wasn’t actively using it.

You (being someone who was taught from your uncle, who dealt with finance and banking, to be careful with your money) were currently having to teach Robert a lot of things in the first week of your stay in Castle Rock. You didn’t mind it at all, to be honest; being a teacher at heart. It was adorable to see Robert open his mind a bit about lots of things.

That wasn’t the only thing he was open about.

You were finally getting used to his presence, and being with him. You still hadn’t had your first kiss together, saving that for a special occasion, but there was definitely a lot more cuddling and snuggling. Somehow, on the third or fourth night, you found yourself wanting to go back to his bed - like how you had done after you had your first “vision/nightmare”.

Even though Robert was a bit of a night owl, he still laid in bed with you; spending his night watching the shows you suggested to him, while you were sound asleep next to him. Every morning was the same so far, with you waking up in his arms with a smile on your face. He drove to the grocery store to buy small items - since the two of you were going to head back to Derry at the end of the month.

Once he did that, you woke up to his amazing cooking, and you could feel yourself fall more and more for Robert. To top it off, no one had bothered you and Robert during your stay in Castle Rock.

Of course, all things in your life weren’t so black and white.

You unfortunately had another vision, but it wasn’t so bad as the first one. Again, you were in the snow-covered woods, but this time - you could “feel” something hit the back of your head, and then you woke up. The most you could muster up from that, was that “you” were knocked out (either by someone, or something).

Now, you were here: waking up in Robert’s arms again.

Meeting his sly gaze, you shuffle in his arms to crane your head up: pressing a kiss along his jaw. “Morning, Rob,” you greet. You had started to give him that nickname starting yesterday, and to your surprise: he  _ loved  _ hearing you call him that.

Robert hums in response, closing his eyes to snuggle more. His movements are sluggish, lazy, with his hands trailing from your back, to the curve of your behind - making you flush with surprise. Startled, you wiggle out of his hold but still hold onto him. “Sorry,” you apologize. “You just surprised me.”

“That’s okay,” he replies, nodding.

He moves his hands back up to your shoulder-blades, looking at you for confirmation that you’re fine with that. It warmed your heart that he was considerate of you, always making sure that you came first before him. You did want him to take care of himself at times, he practically spent his time willingly  _ wanting  _ to do things for you, and you wanted to put in your share of work - but he was adamant on “taking care of his darling”.

At first you found it a bit disheartening, to be treated like a fragile doll almost, but now you really appreciated what he did for you. He gave you space when you needed it, and always asked for permission before doing anything.

“You’re the first person who’s ever respected me like that,” you confess quietly. “Thank you, Robert.”

He huma again, one of his hands trailing up to weave his fingers through your hair. You shudder in response at the feeling; head massages were always soothing to you. “I’ve realized,” he trails off, “that there’s more to life than just myself.” He pauses, “...and that I’m not the only person in the world who deserves respect.” Again, there’s that strange sadness in his tone; but you don’t pry, allowing him to continue. “ - I want to make you happy, and I want to make sure that I’m doing this right.”

“This is more than right,” you say.  _ “You’re  _ more than right.”

“It is...?” he asks, his tone full of hope.

You nod, looking up at him. At that moment, when your eyes meet, you can feel a sudden urge in you that wants to lean  _ closer.  _ Your heart picks up in its rhythm ever so slightly, and your breaths grow shallow; faint. You move up on the bed so that you were straddling him, your hands slowly reaching up to caress the sides of his face.

You hesitate, your hands trembling slightly at what you were about to do.

Robert, however, understands your signals and snakes a hand up to rest it along the nape of your neck. To make his own point, he brushes your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You hold each other like that, both of you hesitating and waiting for the other to act first. Robert moves his face closer to yours, waiting for you to press forward. You can feel his heart race faster than yours, the anticipation clear in his eyes.

Before anything else can happen, you quietly murmur, “You’re perfect.”

And then, you’re pressing your lips against his.

Giddiness and excitement filled your chest, feeling his lips move and guide your inexperienced ones - this was your  _ first kiss,  _ after-all. He uses the hand on your neck to tilt your head slightly, pressing a little more into you while maintaining that gentle feeling. Your eyelids flutter close and everything feels so  _ right  _ at that moment.

The worry about making things perfect yourself, the fear that everything was going to go wrong at some point, faded away. Everything faded away as soon as you kissed Robert - and there’s no words to completely describe how you felt after pulling away from him. Your forehead rests against his, the smile on your face as wide as it can be.

An airy giggle escapes your lips.

“You’re wonderful,” you murmur. “I’m so glad that you’re in my life.”

Robert smiles; tears in his eyes at how happy he was feeling. There were no words needed to express how happy he was, for his face showed it before he could even speak.  _ Me too,  _ he seems to convey through just body language - even though his mind was blocked, his emotions were full display for you, and you only. He was at his most vulnerable, showing you how much he cares about you.

And you care about him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff you guys, my heart is warming up for these two. Reader finally had their first kiss! (And it's also the first "official" kiss shared between Reader and Robert in their relationship.) I changed up the acts a bit, so it works like this:
>
>> CHAPTER I: DERRY I [Ch. 1-4]  
> INTERLUDE: CASTLE ROCK I [Ch. 5-6]  
> CHAPTER II: DERRY II [Ch. 7-]  
> 
> 
> Since the first few chapters for Castle Rock are short, I'm leaving them as an interlude to the actual story. We're going back into Derry for a while before heading back to Castle Rock (since the canonical events for the show's first season happen around Oct. 2018). But we're definitely going to have A LOT of Derry, and a lot of our favorite Losers.
> 
>  **EDIT** : I changed the tags and rating (from Mature to Explicit) due to a few things that I'm adding into the story, i.e. explicit sexual content, graphic images of corpses, and blood & gore.
> 
> I can't wait to read your comments and questions for the upcoming chapters! <3


	7. Derry II: Of the Worst Tragedies (Rain III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What did you see?”_

## II

* * *

_If you leave me, then I'll be afraid of everything_  
 _That makes me anxious, gives me patience, calms me down_  
\- The Neighbourhood, “Afraid”

* * *

_ October 1st _

It was raining again.

There was a heavy downpour that left you and Robert scrambling to your house as soon as his car entered your driveway. Laughing at his slight distress, you brought him into your house and insisted on bringing the luggage in. He listened, thankfully, leaving you to gather the luggage (sans Maturin, who Robert dropped off back at his house) with your powers. You were the only person outside - the rain made sure that was possible - so you didn’t have to worry about anyone talking about how you were a “witch”.

You still hadn’t told Robert about the extent of your powers, afraid of what he would think of you; you simply settled on stating that you could read people, and have visions. That was the closest that you’d get to telling him the truth about yourself (which, quite frankly, you were still trying to figure out yourself).

Robert made himself comfortable on the couch, his teeth chattering while he kicked off his designer leather boots. With his slight new-found addiction to TV shows, he quickly went to turning on your television. “It’s cold,” he muttered to you, pouting.

“Duh,” you replied, laughing. “It  _ is  _ raining outside.”

He grumbled under his breath, shrugging the coat off of his shoulders, folding it on his lap. Smiling, you headed up the stairs to turn on the heater and felt a flood of relief to see Holland’s tank.

_ I missed her,  _ you thought, checking the inside of the enclosure.

She was nestled in the new webbing that she made, enjoying the new set-up you had provided for her before you left with Robert to Castle Rock. You did want to take her out, but the house was chilly, so you settled against it. You made sure to take care of her before yourself; she looked like she was going to molt soon.

You changed out of your slightly damp clothes, and into a sweater and a pair of sweatpants. Weaving a hand through your long hair, you trudged back down the stairs to see that Robert was watching a show on HBO - it looked familiar.

“Hey,” you call.

During your descent, you gathered a few pillows and blankets, handing them to Robert. After setting up the couch, you plopped down next to him, feeling him snuggle against you. You press a chaste kiss against his cheek, smiling. “What are you watching?”

“Whatever’s on the TV,” he shrugs. “I think it’s called...” A pause, “Westworld.”

“That’s a good show,” you add. “I haven’t had the time to watch it.”

“Pfft, and I thought that you were the expert at this darling.”

“I’m not...But it feels like I am when I am around you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asks, raising a brow.

You shrug, giggling. “I don’t know...but it’s never bad.”

That cues that heart eyes to come back in Robert’s eyes (though, they were always there whenever he looked at you), and he snakes an arm around your middle - securing your body close to his. You let out a squeal of delight, rolling over so that you were facing him. Your noses were pressed together, your foreheads brushing; and then, you were kissing him again after a moment of silence.

You were starting to get the hang of kissing, having done it often ever since you shared your first kiss with Robert a few days prior. You were surprised that Robert - who told you that you were his first too - knew what to do; how to hold you and kiss back with ease. You questioned for a brief moment if he was telling the truth (if you really were his first), but left it alone.

You believed him, and wouldn’t hold that against him.

“I should go,” you tease, pulling out of his embrace. “I’m going to make a drink.”

He whines, tightening his hold on you, and buries his face into your neck. “Don’t go,” he grumbles; his breath light against your neck. You hold back a shudder at the feeling, closing your eyes in response. Robert’s hands roam around the expanse of your back, caressing you in a way that definitely makes you  _ not  _ want to leave.

“I won’t,” you reply softly. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

Robert chuckles. “Is forever an option?”

“Maybe,” you muse humorously.

“If it was,” he trails off. “...then I’d pick it in a heartbeat.”

You snicker, wrapping your arms around his neck in the tight embrace he had you in. The show on the TV was long-forgotten as soon as the two of you had embraced - because now all you could focus on, was Robert being here with you. The embrace that the two of you were in was so comfortable, that you nearly fell asleep: if it weren’t the fact that the door-bell and rang. Robert let out a groan of despair, while you reached over him and onto the table; grabbing your phone.

“Let me check the camera,” you say.

“Fine,” he nods. “Is it really that important?”

You didn’t answer his question, replying by pulling up the app - already having an idea on who was knocking on your door. When the screen loaded, you were met with the sight of Georgie in his yellow slicker.  _ Right,  _ you think.  _ It’s raining, and he knows that I’m home.  _ You shuffle out of his arms, practically ready to gather your paper-boat making materials.

“Who is it?” Robert asks.

“Georgie,” you answer. “Can you open the door for him?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” you breathe out, sauntering out of the living room to gather the supplies.

At this point, you left them in the kitchen (since Georgie usually came through here to grab cookies - when you let him into the house. While you heard the door open and close, followed by Georgie’s squeaky galoshes, you carried the notebook and paraffin in your arms.

You lingered in the kitchen, not wanting to enter the living room when the sound of voices caught your ear. You could hear the two talking, even if it was a mostly (one-sided) conversation between Georgie and Robert - with Robert being the one who talked less. While you were listening, you decided to heat up the paraffin now, your eyes trailing out the window to watch the rain pour.

“Good morning!” greets Georgie.

Robert’s replies were short, curt. “Morning.”

“You’re Miss King’s boyfriend, right?”

“I - ” a pause, “...I am.”

“They’re so nice! They’re like...like my big sister!”

“Don’t you have a brother already?”

“Yeah! Billy’s also my friend! Not just my brother.”

“Your  _ bestest  _ friend?”

“Yup!” Another pause, “Do you live here now?”

“Not yet kiddo,” Robert trails off, “...but hopefully, one day I will.”

Smiling at Robert’s reply (you were feeling optimistic about the future as well), you gather the hot wax into a small bowl and return to the living room. “You two getting along?” you tease, pretending that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

Georgie nods and flashes a bright smile at you, while Robert seems a bit indifferent - but nods nonetheless; his unease around Georgie still apparent. You raise a questioning brow at him, to which he shrugs and fiddles with his phone (even though it was clearly off) to make his point that he didn’t want to talk about it.

_ I’ll have to ask him eventually,  _ you remind yourself.

“How was your trip?” Georgie asks, latching onto your arm.

Laughing, you ruffle his hair. “Amazing,” you pause, thinking about having your first kiss with Robert; spending your time in Castle Rock bonding with Robert in a way that made you fall head-over-heels for him. Your smile widens, your gaze briefly turning to Robert before returning to the half-folded paper.

“It was wonderful,” you continue, “and I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Once you were done folding the paper boat you shift so that your back was facing Robert, pressing a finger to your lips at Georgie - telling him to not say anything when you began to dip your fingers into the hot wax. Lathering the boat in the melted paraffin, you wiped your hand with a towel, your smile returning.

“Here you go,” you say. “She’s all ready for you.”

Georgie gingerly takes the boat. “Thanks! I won’t be out long today.”

“Please,” you huff. “It’s pouring outside.”

“Okay!” replies Georgie. “Bye Miss King! Bye Mr. Gray!”

“Take care, kid,” you say, waving him off.

Upon him leaving the house, Robert lets out a heavy sigh; causing you to snort. “How do you  _ not  _ get tired of him?” he questions with wide eyes. He tosses his phone over to the table beside him, wrapping himself in blankets and returns to watching the TV show. 

“I like kids,” you shrug. “I think they’re adorable.”

“Well, I think that kids are deli - ” Robert pauses, as if he was holding back the rest of his sentence.

You turn around, raising a brow. “...are what?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “Like I said. I’m not a fan of kids.”

You nod, gathering the items on the table to return them in the kitchen. His answer was reasonable, but it did make you wonder if he was interested in having kids - even if you weren’t up for having your own. He made it sound like children were the bane of his existence, or his greatest horror.

But like every other question you had about Robert, you buried it.

After washing your hands and fixing your sweater, you returned to your position with Robert. It was kinda funny, the two of you were cuddling together and watching the TV show - even if neither of you knew what was going on in it. Eventually, you grew bored of it and switched the channel over to the local news. A frown passed through your features, seeing the headlines; and you could even feel Robert freeze up beside you as well.

> _ Dorsey Corcoran Found Brutally Murdered, _
> 
> _ Step-father Pulled In for Questioning _

Noticing that Robert looked uneasy, you turned to him in question.

“Are you okay - ?”

“I...” he trails off, looking at the TV screen anxiously. “I...need to go...home.”

Everything had happened so suddenly after that, with Robert practically jumping out of the couch and gathering his bags near the front entrance. You’re unable to say a word, shocked and confused by his actions, and can only watch as he exits through the front door - seconds later, you can hear his car engine roar to life, before fading away as he drives away.

You turn to the TV for answers, wondering what got him so nervous in the first place. Stunned, you turn off the TV and head back upstairs to continue on with life as if nothing had happened. You did send Robert a quick text asking if he was okay, and to your chagrin: you didn’t get a response from him.

You considered driving to his house and ask him what was wrong - since you couldn’t read his mind for answers - but felt that you were intruding on his privacy. If it was something personal, then you wouldn’t push him for answers.

* * *

That night, you woke up in a cold sweat.

Throwing the sheets off of you, your eyes peered through the darkness wildly, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. It was as if you had woken up from your “visions” only, you didn’t have any tonight (not that you can remember it, if you did have one) - and felt fear seep into your heart. It was the same feeling you had upon entering Castle Rock, and the same feeling you had when you first moved to Derry; both as an adult and a child.

You pull your t-shirt, which you had taken off before sleeping, over your head and hop out of bed, unsure what you were looking for. The house seemed abnormally cold, visible puffs of air leaving your mouth with each breath. Even though you could see in the dark, it was still frightening nonetheless being all alone (sans Holland) in your house.

You point an open hand towards your bed, your baseball bat flying towards you - you couldn’t help but feel defensive, even if you had powers. There was something in the back of your mind that was screaming danger; that something was watching you. You leave your room, and search your house, regretting your decision of purchasing a two-story home.

You suddenly felt incredibly small, a single individual in a large house. You let out a heavy sigh, heading downstairs after you checked out all of the rooms. The atmosphere seemed different than how it usually felt: as if something dark had been unleashed in Derry. It was hard to describe, but the most you could muster up: was that there was someone - no,  _ something _ \- in your house. After checking out the rooms downstairs, and taking a brief trip outside, the only place you hadn’t checked...was the basement.

Your hand was hovering over the basement door’s handle; trembling.

Inhaling sharply, you open the door and make a trip into the dark and wet -  _ wait, wet? _

It was as if the rain outside had leaked into the basement, filling up the floor up with water up to a few inches high. The staircase that led into the basement was just as waterlogged, a look of disgust on your face the further down you walked into the basement. A sick, squelching noise resonated with each step; the wooden stairs bringing your mind further and further into confusion and fear.

You pulled the metal string that turned on the light - 

...only to feel a pang of fear as it  _ didn’t  _ turn on.

Your heart pounds harder in your chest, your grip on the baseball bat tightening. Too many questions ran through your mind at that moment.  _ Why is it so cold in here? Why is the basement flooded? Why isn’t the light turning on? What the hell is standing -  _

You swallow a knot in your throat, freezing up as your eyes landed on a... _ figure,  _ standing in the farthest corner of the basement. In the dark, you could see a glimmer of silver-white clothes; contrasting heavily to the darkness of the basement. Its back was turned to you, but you could tell that it stood all the way up to the ceiling of the basement.

You stop, unsure what to do.

You were probably standing there for a good minute or two, when you felt warm air breathe against your neck. Gasping, you turn around, wildly swinging the bat...only for it to clang against the walls; as there was nothing for you to hit. Mouth agape, you search the stairs with wild eyes - unable to form a single sound or word.

Remembering the figure in the corner, you turn back around: and find nothing there.

You stand mid-step, staring at the dark, flooded expanse of the basement as if something was going to lunge at you. It was so quiet that you could hear the blood rushing in your head; the sound of your heart beating. When there was no threat, after turning around for a brief moment to see if anything was behind you (from what you had seen in movies; there was always something standing behind a character) - and thankfully, you were all alone. With trembling hands, you let out a sigh of relief, running a hand over your face.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself. “I should stop watching horror movies...”

Now your main concern was about the amount of water in your basement. You leave the basement to head back upstairs, but stop when you see something on your floorboards that makes you freeze.  _ Wet footprints.  _ Apprehension rising again, you follow the footprints back upstairs; leading back to...

“My room,” you trail off, fearful.

Positioning the baseball bat again, you slowly make your way to your room, the hallway leading to it seeming to be much longer than it originally was. Your heart began to pound again, and the faint crack of thunder causes you to jump slightly.

A strange smell came across your nose - the smell of sewage and...something else; something  _ rotten.  _ Upon opening your room door, you tried to turn on the lights. Again, nothing was turning on, leaving you with more confusion and fear.

_ Was there a power outage from the storm? _

_ Was someone in my house? _

Finally, the footprints stopped at your closet door - prompting you to narrow your eyes and tilt your head. You really felt like a character in a horror movie, maybe from the  _ Paranormal Activity  _ series from how things were going, but your fear was more directed on the idea of an actual person being in your home; rather than something out of this world.

Not wanting to edge your fear any further, you swing the door open and jump back in alarm when an object springs forth at you. Falling on your behind, your gaze averts from the white string, to the shiny rubber that gleams under the moonlight from your windows.

...you were looking at a red balloon.

* * *

After checking your cameras endlessly, only to find that no one had broken into your house, you brought your attention to the balloon - feeling bewildered when it was no longer in your room. The wet footprints were also gone. The basement, when you came back downstairs to check it, was also no longer flooded; and the lights in the house were up and working again.

A sick, nauseating feeling pooled in your gut. Just from the fact that everything you had seen was gone - as if it never even happened - gave you the impression that what you saw was just a vision; one you had while you were awake this time. That definitely brought your paranoia up, spending the remainder of your night researching endlessly on the subject - only to find nothing on the subject.

You hoped that this wouldn’t be a problem (you were already fed up with having to wake up in the middle of the night from the visions), and you wondered if hopping between Castle Rock and Derry triggered it. Stress was one thing that affected your powers, but you were used to them, so you had learned to control them - but there was nothing that you could think of that made you extremely stressed.

Your time in Castle Rock made you  _ release  _ your stress.

There was nothing that had filled your mind with worry, except...except for you relationship with Robert. Now that you thought about it, you had been increasingly on edge and anxious on how you things would go out between you and him. Even though it was exciting and amazing to be with him, you had that lingering doubt that things wouldn’t work out.

Of course, the only way you could solve your problems: was with sleep.

* * *

Robert came to your house later that day.

He seemed a bit on edge, tired (but not as much as you), but held himself all the same - cool and collected. Your day was brightened by his presence, since he had also brought flowers with him to make up for his sudden behavior from yesterday. You helped him out in the living room, making coffee for him while you shared cookies that you made earlier in the morning; to relieve your stress.

“I had another vision,” you confess.

He was the only person you could confide in when it came to the subject of your visions (even if you still weren’t being entirely honest by not telling him about the entirety of your powers), and he was just as intrigued. “What happened?” he asks. “What did you see?”

You shrug, frowning. “I...I was awake when I saw it - the basement.”

“What about the basement?” he pries.

“It was flooded,” you continue, gripping your coffee mug tighter. “There was something in the corner; standing.”

Robert eyes you strangely. “What - ...What do you mean by that?”

“Someone was there. It...it was wearing light clothes, kinda shiny, like silk.” You pause, your frown deepening when you could feel Robert’s heartbeat rise ever so slightly, as if he was just as anxious as you. “I felt something breathe on my neck,” you trail off. “I was scared, so I turned around and s-saw...I saw that nothing was there. I looked back and the figure was gone.”

Robert fell silent, allowing you to continue on your story. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes; trying to piece your memories back together. “I saw footprints leading to my room, to my closet. And when I opened it...I saw a red balloon - ”

You’re cut off by the sound of porcelain shattering and liquid splashing; the smell of coffee taking over your senses. You gasp, opening your eyes when you’re met with the sight of Robert, who was gaping at his (your) broken cup of coffee. Shocked, you place your cup down on the table and place a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Hey - ”

“Oh shit, fuck -  _ fuck,”  _ Robert swears, pulling at his hair. “I’m so, so sorry. My hands just slipped and I -  _ Fuck.” _

“It’s okay,” you wave him off. “Just hang tight for me. I’ll get a towel.”

Robert groans, running a hand over his face. “I’m such an idiot. Again, I’m sorry.”

You quickly head over to the kitchen, grabbing a towel and a plastic bag, making your way back to the living room. Robert, who was freaking his mind out over the broken cup, had gathered the larger pieces into his hand. A deep scowl was on his face, his eyebrows drawn back - making him look like a puppy again with how wide his eyes were.

He was swearing under his breath, muttering to himself, but stopped upon seeing you. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, you held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t apologize,” you interrupt, smiling. “It’s fine.” Feeling that Robert wanted to help, you handed the towel over to him.

“Here,” you direct. “You can wipe the floor after...wait, here. Give me - ”

You take the broken shards from his hands, making sure that you (or him) weren’t cut by them. You discard the pieces in the plastic bag on the table, and kneel down to gather the smaller pieces. You and Robert clean the living room in silence, and thankfully, the coffee didn’t spill onto your couch.

After spending a couple of minutes of cleaning and getting rid of the broken mug, you and Robert sit in the living room in silence - an uncomfortable silence filling in between you two. Wringing your hands together, you turn to Robert, giving him a gentle smile.

“So,” you giggle. “That was something.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Robert mutters. “I shouldn’t have - ”

“It’s  _ fine,  _ Robert,” you breathe, taking his hand in yours. “You’re not in trouble.”

He sighs, nodding. “I know,” he replies, bringing your joined hands up to his face. You watch as he rests his cheek against the back of your hand, leaning into it as he nuzzles it for comfort. “I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” he admits, a bit frustrated with himself.

You look at him sympathetically, leaning over to hug him.

“I’ll never be mad at you.”

* * *

_ October 7th _

Today was the day that Georgie died...at least, in another world.

Robert had been on edge the entire week; ever since his  _ darling  _ said that they had a vision on Sunday night. The same Sunday when Dorsey Corcoran was found, dead - the very event that had woken him up in the other life. The brutal violence, the crime of a man murdering his step-son, that was what had set him off to wake up.

But things were different now.

He was human, and he didn’t feel any different when they came back to Derry. He didn’t experience some horrifying event, nor did he gain or lose anything on Sunday night. The day was normal, the only thing being different - was him being human. He had checked on Sunday night, for the news; remembering that he (upon waking up) had snatched a child in the night, in the other world.

There were no articles on that, leaving Robert to assume that nothing had changed. But Robert was full of unease, going so far as to forcing himself to vomit in the toilet - expecting to spew out bones and blood; afraid that he had undergone some change in the night. To his relief, and confusion, the only thing that came up was the burger that he had in Castle Rock, the day before.

Still, there was the question as to why his  _ darling  _ still had a vision.

_Is this some sort of relapse?_ _Why are they remembering things that happened in the other life?_

But a few things were wrong.

Their vision was different. Robert remembered beforehand that he used a monster from a horror movie (if he could recall, it was a character from “The Exorcist”) to scare them when he first woke up. In this world, they had a “vision” of Pennywise (which Robert deduced from their description of a “silver costume”), and a balloon.

In addition to that, he hadn’t scared had his first interaction with them until Friday - the day Georgie had died; and Dorsey had been dead for a week. They had a vision on the day that Dorsey Corcoran died, and five days before Georgie would die as-well. Robert couldn’t help but feel a bit of fear for Georgie, even if there was no threat.

After taking a quick shower and eating breakfast, instead of heading to his  _ darling’s  _ house, he drives down to the intersection between Witcham and Jackson Street. After stopping a block away from the sewer drain, Robert exits his car (not bothering to grab an umbrella or hoodie), and waits; hearing giggles down the street.

Rain pours over him, soaking his clothes and making him chatter his teeth, but the fear takes his mind off of that. His eyes trail over to a bright yellow slicker, and finds Georgie; laughing and playing alone. Robert’s heart pounds in his chest, anticipation rising as he hears Georgie let out a wail of despair. Hiding behind a bush, Robert watched as the tiny paper boat - probably made by his  _ darling _ \- caught onto the sidewalk, before falling into the sewer drain.

Georgie lowers himself on his hands and knees, and Robert can remember exactly what he’s saying.  _ “Bill’s gonna kill me!”  _ (Or was it, “Miss King was gonna kill me,” now that his  _ darling  _ made the paper boat for Georgie, instead of Bill Denbrough?).

He holds his breath, watching as Georgie rises to his feet - admitting defeat - and waits for the moment when Georgie is stopped by someone calling his name. To his relief, nothing stops Georgie, and Robert watches with hopeful eyes as the young boy walks away from the sewer grate. When he can no longer see Georgie, Robert leaves from his hiding spot, and kneels in front of the sewer grate.

His eyes search the darkness, not caring if the rain matts his clothes to his body. He lets out heavy breaths, half-expecting a clown (it was hard for him to admit that he and “it” were the same thing; now that he had changed his ways of life so much) to pop up in his face. Thankfully, nothing comes up, allowing Robert to relax and head back to his car.

With confidence, Robert drives back to his house, no longer afraid.

Georgie didn't die.


	8. Derry II: Oranges and Lemons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And that’s when you see it._

_If you're going crazy just grab me and take me_  
 _I'd follow you down down down, anywhere anywhere_  
\- Lana Del Rey, “Million Dollar Man”

* * *

_ October 10th _

You decided to go out and buy some flowers.

The ones that Robert had bought for you had died, which was mostly your fault when you had a bit of a meltdown - after losing Holland while bringing her out of the tank - and you took your anger out on the poor white roses in a vase. You discarded the withered flowers in the trash, feeling bad that you had accidentally destroyed Robert’s gift (but he didn’t need to know that).

That was how you found yourself driving down Center Street, and towards the nearest home & supplies store; they usually sections dedication to landscape and flora. You were also in need of redesigning your garden, which had waterlogged after a week’s worth of rain. Thankfully, that ended yesterday - allowing you to leave the confines of your home.

“Can I help you with anything?” a worker asks you.

You decline, shaking your head. “I’m fine,” you say. “But thank you.”

The worker leaves you alone, allowing you to browse through the different types of flora. Since it was October, there were mostly late-summer and fall blooms that were available to choose from. You eventually settled on picking a batch of  _ sulfur cinquefoils  _ and  _ white champions:  _ enjoying the contrast between white and yellow.

The  _ sulfur cinquefoils  _ would go in the front garden, while the  _ white champions  _ would go in your backyard. In addition to that, you bought a few hanging plants - having been inspired by a few posts that you found online. You weren’t an expert on plants, but you figured that it would be a nice change for you to start taking care of some.

Thankfully, the plants were still small enough to fit them into the trunk of your car.

After that, you found yourself going on a shopping spree for plants. You ended up buying more than the flowers - purchasing a small bed of mint plants, a blooming succulent plant, and a book about bees (even though you knew for a fact that you’d probably shelf it like the countless books in your room’s bookshelf).

Just as you were done checking out, a hand clasps itself onto the handle of your cart.

Startled, you turn your head and see - 

“Rob?” you question, tilting your head. “What are you doing here?”

The man in question mirrors your expression, tilting his head as he stares at you. Oddly enough, he slowly removes his hand from the cart, his gaze trained on you. It’s as if he picking exactly what he wants to say to you, just like how he had done when you first met him.

You also raise a brow at his clothing choice - leather jacket, black jeans, and a plain grey t-shirt; a typical “bad boy” look. His hair was parted to the right and gelled (which was weird, since he  _ hated  _ using any kind of cosmetic product), and his eyes were...

Robert interrupts your thoughts with the sound of his voice.

“I - ” he pauses, shrugging. “I wanted to,” another pause, “...redesign my garden at home.”

You don’t point out how he doesn’t look like he’s shopping, nor do you mention how his garden at Neibolt was probably the best one in all of Derry; and you knew for a fact that he didn’t need to take care of it. You cross your arms, leaning on one side of your hip while putting on a smirk. You try to hide your unease at his presence and strange behavior.

“Funny,” you laugh. “I was doing the same thing.”

He relaxes, nodding. “Did you need help with bringing this to your car?”

“No, I’m fine - ”

Robert stops you by clasping his hand on your cart again, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “I insist,” he says.

You comply, confused but not opposing his help. You hadn’t seen him in a while, only meeting him here and there after he left so suddenly after Sunday, so it was nice to be in his presence. You walked at his side, fixing your sundress - with the rain being gone, you could finally get back to wearing them.

You have to bite back a million questions when Robert freezes up when you hold his free hand. When you finally came to your car, you let go of his hand and bite your lip when you hear him let out a sigh of...relief?

_ Was he mad at me? _

“Just put it in the trunk,” you say quietly, analyzing Robert.

He nods in silence, hastily putting your shopping items before shutting the trunk, moving the cart over to an empty parking space. Wanting an answer to your question, you lean up and take his face in your hands, pulling him into a quick kiss. He kisses back, much to your relief, but he’s oddly tense (unnoticeable to most, but you already knew that Robert used body language often, so you could see the signs really well) and doesn’t hold you in his hands - which he normally does.

“Are you okay?” you ask once you pull away.

“I’m fine,” he continues, timidly. “I’m just... hungry.”

You nod. “I’m hungry too. Did you want to - ”

“Grab a bite?” he finishes, smiling. “Thanks, but no. I’m going to eat on my own.”

That prompts you to frown, feeling doubtful of yourself again. Before you can ask him if he was mad at you, or if something was bothering him, he turns on his heel and enters the store again - leaving you confused and upset. Entering your car and locking the doors, you bring out your phone and text Robert.

> _ Are you okay? Why did you leave like that? _

While you wait for him to reply (though with his attitude, you figured that he’d probably just read it), you watch a Netflix show to pass the time. A few minutes later, you get a reply, but it’s one that confuses you.

> _ What do you mean? Leave where? _

_ So he was going to play at that, wasn’t he? _ You were just upset that he left so suddenly, and seemed like he didn’t want to be around you at that moment. Feeling pathetic that you were starting to tear up, you let out a heavy sigh - leaning into the seat. Just as you were about to text him, Robert calls you and you answer it right away.

_ “I got your text,”  _ he continues.  _ “What are you talking about?” _

“What you did right now!” you reply back, trying to hide the hurt in your voice. “Are you mad at me?”

_ “Mad? Wh-Why would I be mad at you?” _

“You acted like you didn’t want to be around me.”

_ “When was this, darling? I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.” _

“I just said right now,” you let out a groan. “You walked into the store after we kissed...?” you pause, sucking in a trembling breath. “Just tell me the truth, Robert.  _ Please.” _

_ “Darling,”  _ Robert says, exasperated.  _ “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now. I’m at home.” _

At that moment, you’re not sure if you want to scream or cry at him.

“And what was with the contacts?” you question, fed up with his answers.

_ “What contacts? I, darling - ” _

“Don’t lie to me Robert,” you interrupt. “You came to the store looking like you were the next bad boy of the century; with your leather jacket and green eyes. And when I kissed you...” you trail off, repeating yourself. “Are you mad at me?”

Robert falls silent. And then, he’s face-timing you.

Answering the call, your face _ (Christ, I look like a mess.)  _ comes up first before Robert’s pops up a second later. You’re about to yell, frustrated and confused, when you freeze - seeing him lift the phone at an angle that shows that he’s sitting on a couch in his living room.

Not at the store;  _ at home. _

“What...?” you ask, your voice a faint whisper. “H-How...?”

_ “Are you okay, darling?”  _ Robert furrows his eyebrows.  _ “Why were you asking me all those questions?” _

“How are you at your house? I-I...I just saw you.”

_ “I haven’t left my house all day.” _

“But - ” you cut yourself off, breathing heavily. “I-I just...I...”

Admitting defeat, you let out another sigh and let your head fall forward, closing your eyes. You can hear Robert over the speaker, calling your name over and over in worry. “...‘m fine,” you mutter in a wavering voice. “It’s just...it was probably my mind just messing with me,” you pause, sighing. “I’ve been stressed out lately because of my visions.”

You continue. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I-I know you probably think that I’m mad at you but - ”

_ “It’s alright,”  _ Robert replies.  _ “I understand. You’re stressed.” _

Lifting your face, you position your phone so that you’re facing Robert, weakly showing your pearly white teeth. You apologize profusely, taking in your own appearance with dreary eyes.  _ Damn, I look like shit,  _ you think to yourself.  _ I guess I have the best and the worst luck in the world. _

_ “Are you well enough to drive?”  _ asks Robert, worried.  _ “Do you need me to - ” _

“I can drive myself,” you say. “Can I...Can I come to your house?”

Robert’s gaze softens.  _ “Of course, darling. Anytime.” _

* * *

Unable to comprehend what happened, you drove in silence.

On one hand, what you experienced was too real; too tangible. From the way Robert looked at you, to his normally condescending tone - the only thing that seemed off about him, were his green eyes and “bad boy” look. But you had talked to Robert on the phone, and it was evident that he had no recollection of what happened.

You could only brush it off as a half vision, half stress-induced hallucination. Before you made it back to Robert’s house, you stopped at a gas station to refill your tank, resting your hands on your hips while you were waiting outside of your car. There was barely anyone at the gas station, since you picked one that was down on Harris Avenue.

Across the street, stood the ruins of a few apartment homes that had been burned down nearly nine years ago. From what you heard, there was only one survivor, a young boy by the name of Michael Hanlon - grandson of the man who owned Hanlon Farms near the outskirts of Derry. Sympathy washes over your features, feeling bad for the kid (even though you’ve never met him).

It seemed that Derry had a knack for orphaning kids; including yourself.

You weren’t entirely close with your parents, and it was hard to remember them - especially with your slightly fuzzy memory - but their deaths still hit hard nonetheless. You could only imagine how the Hanlon kid felt, being the sole survivor while his own parents...

The smell of popcorn interrupts your inner dialogue, prompting you to look up.

You weren’t a heavy fan of all sweets, you left that to Robert (who had the strongest sweet-tooth ever), but the smell was appetizing enough for you: who hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. Wanting to go home and pot your plants, you held back your objectives to find the source of the smell, paying for your gas and locking your door.

Your eyes searched the empty parking lot, to the apartments across from you.  _ Nothing. _

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you take a few more seconds to observe your surroundings before you’re left frustrated once more. You drive away from the gas station, taking a short-cut near the Kissing Bridge. Hands tight on the steering wheel, you find yourself droning in and out every now and then, realizing how large Derry was when you drove through the “Barrens”.

Now, it wasn’t anywhere as large as Castle Rock - then again, the entirety of Castle County was big enough being covered by woodlands and mountains - but it was big enough for a person to get lost in. You slowed down by the Kissing Bridge, wanting to stretch your legs.

Letting out a deep sigh, you ran a hand through your hair, leaning against the white fence. Your eyes trail down, looking at all of the names and initials that had been carved over the years, wondering if those people were still together with their loved ones. You hoped, one day, that you and Robert would get the chance to carve your names here.

A giggle from afar prompts you to snap your head up.

And that’s when you see it. See  _ him. _

Standing parallel to you, mirroring your actions by leaning against the fence, was a clown. In simpler terms, at least. There was a lot to take in as soon as your eyes laid on the figure - the amount of detail making your head spin.

First there was the puffy silver dollar fabric that covered nearly his entire body, cinched with thin peppermint-themed threads. The limbs of the costume were layered in a way that reminded you of a snake - creating the illusion that he was taller than he was already. He was the tallest person  _ (thing)  _ you’ve ever seen: his height rivaling Robert’s.

At the ends of the sleeves and pants, were pale beige ruffles that matched the thick ruffled collar around his neck. His shoes were white and black, with red pom-poms at the ends - matching the three larger pom-poms that ran down the front of his costume. Your eyes trail over to his hands: long and gloved.

Now his face...

It was bone-white and smooth, so smooth that you thought that this was his actual skin, with how it glistened and looked slightly dewey; healthy. His hair was ginger  _ (Kinda like Sharon’s hair.)  _ and coiffed up in strange curls, resting atop an abnormally large forehead that made his height only grow even more. His eyes were a beautiful shade of sky blue, reminding you of Bill’s eyes, that were full of a type of child-like wonder and mirth that could rival Georgie’s.

The strangest thing about him, you figured, was the rest of his make-up. His nose and lips were painted a deep red color, and the ends of the lips were drawn up and over the eyes, where they ended in sharp points.

_ Like one giant mouth,  _ you muse.

The overall display was lovely - the costume was incredibly well-kept and clean; and so was his make-up - but you didn’t have time to admire it as much, especially since this stranger came out of nowhere. You didn’t see him when you drove up to the Kissing Bridge, and you certainly didn’t feel his presence.

You don’t make a move, afraid that he was going to do something to you. Even though he felt familiar (where have you seen this silver costume from?), you couldn’t help but think back to the phenomenon from last year - when kids and people dressed up as clowns with weapons as some sort of crude joke.

The clown tilts his head in silence, observing and taking in you features as much as you did with him. While you stand upright and cross your arms, the clown still leans on the fence - leisurely thrumming his fingers along the fence-post. Neither of you say a word, an eerie silence passing between you two.

At the same time, a cacophony of voices echo in your ear.

_ “ - isn’t real enough for you, Bi - ?” _

_ “He can’t help you...not with ol’ Penn - ” _

_ “...your imaginary friend?” _

_ “You lied to me!” _

_ “KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT!” _

Unable to think, hands trembling at the numerous sounds and smells that come up - popcorn, sewage, peppermint,  _ blood _ \- you close your eyes, hoping that would get the visage of the clown away from you: fear striking your heart. You steady your breathing, balling your hands into tight fists, and when you open your eyes, you’re both relieved and scared to see that the clown was nowhere to be seen.

You don’t hesitate to get in your car as fast as possible and drive away.

As you glance at the rear-view mirror for a brief moment, your eyes catch a red balloon floating in the middle of the road: lonely and enticing. Fear strikes your heart faster than before, causing you to press the pedal ever so slightly - not caring at you were going at a near-illegal speed.

The red balloon grows smaller and smaller until it’s out of your sight.

* * *

After making a quick trip to your home to leave your newly-purchased plants at home, you headed to Robert’s as soon as you could, your nerves on edge and exhaustion taking over. For once you weren’t tired from using your powers, and the tired feeling you had at the moment was just from a build-up of stress.

You were laying on Robert’s bed, with his arms and legs wrapped around you, and his face buried into your bare (wearing only a bra) back. This was definitely different from the “Robert” you had seen at the store, who was stiff, and wanted nothing more than to get as far away from you as he could. You lean into Robert’s hold, letting out a sigh of relief.

There was nothing sexual about the embrace, as you expressed to Robert that you just wanted to feel safe and sound - which was something that Robert knew how to do best when he was around you. You clasp a hand around the base of his forearm, shuddering when the cool metal of his watch presses into your ribs, just below your right breast. His ring, presses into your hip where his right hand was splayed.

“How are you so calm about this?” you ask in a hushed voice. “How are you fine with  _ me?” _

“I’ve experienced weirder things, darling,” Robert replies. “I can’t see things like you, but I can  _ feel  _ things; understand things in a way that makes me know everything,” he pauses, sighing. “And I mean - the whole world kinda knows about Carrie White, and what she did in Chamberlain. My time in Castle Rock also opened my eyes to a lot of things that I didn’t know were possible.”

“True,” you mutter. “...but I’m surprised that you believe it all.”

“You kinda get used to this stuff over time.”

You nod nonchalantly. “I guess you’re right, Robert.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asks. “What you saw there - ”

“Like I said,” you lie. “...it was just another vision.”

“If you say so,” he sighs. “I just wish there was more that I could do.”

Upon hearing him saw that, you remove yourself out of his hold, rolling over so that you’re straddling him; like before. You lean down to kiss him on the cheek before capturing his lips, closing your eyes in bliss. He groans, resting his hands on your hips and returns your kisses with sloppy ones - kneading your thighs with his fingers.

“You’re already doing so much for me,” you pant against his neck. “You’re more than enough, Robert.”

Before things can escalate (despite feeling a thrum of desire, unfamiliar but certainly welcome) you remove yourself from him and grab your shirt, pulling it over your head. Robert looks disappointed, much to your chagrin, but thankfully: he doesn’t push you to continue.

“You wanna come back at my place?” you question. “I need help redesigning my garden.”

“Sure,” he replies, suddenly ecstatic. “Let’s go!” 

Both you and him already knew that he had a strange passion for gardening - he told you that it was a way for him to destress and “think about life” - so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see him up and about again. He carpools in your vehicle, surprising you by turning on the radio and happily listening to pop songs (a heavy contrast compared to how he was beforehand) while his foot taps against the floor of your car.

You bite back a cheeky smile, fawning over his mannerisms. It was as if you had opened his eyes to a whole new world, opening his mind to countless possibilities and allowing him to experience the world - despite its tragedies - and what it had. You pull up to your home, rolling down your window for a brief moment to wave at Bill and Georgie, who were playing in their front yard.

“Hey,” you call to Robert. “Are you up for some Italian tonight?”

“Spaghetti or lasagna?” he chuckles.

“Penne actually,” you continue. “It holds more meat...and maybe some garlic bread if you really want it.”

“I’m fine with the Dutch bread you buy,” he nods. “It’s really good.”

“I’ll be sure to buy more for you then,” you tease, leaning over the seat to kiss him.

His hand is instantly caressing your neck, brushing your hair back to grant better access. His plump lips made kissing him a pleasant experience, and you enjoyed the way he let out soft groans and whimpers when you run your fingers through his hair. Much to your dismay, you had to pull away from him eventually and quickly drove your car into your garage, closing the large door with a button in your car’s electronic dashboard.

“We can do that again later,” you giggle. “Maybe after dinner.”

“Can you stay the night at my place?” he pleads desperately. “My bed is so much bigger.”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “After the plants and dinner, I’ll grab some of my things.”

With that, you send Robert off to the backyard, allowing him to plant the mint in the back while you settled on repotting the  _ white champions  _ into small pots - expecting them to grow more of them later on. The blooming succulent would be left in your dining room/kitchen to create a warm atmosphere. You placed the pot of white flowers in your living room table, and headed to your garage to gather gloves, lifting the several pots of  _ sulfur cinquefoils  _ with your powers.

As much of a burden as they were, having powers did have its benefits.

You quickly head outside to avoid anyone from seeing levitating pots (remembering that Bill and Georgie were also outside) and leave them at the foot of your porch, digging out the water-logged crimson yarrows and placing them in a paper bag. You could use them as fertilizer for Holland’s tank, or you could speed up the process and wither them yourself with your powers.

You settled on the first option, returning back to the task at hand.

Even though you were sure that the snow was to come after this month - maybe sooner, depending on Maine’s ever-changing weather - it was always nice to refresh your home with new things. After spending thirty minutes of planting and digging, you were satisfied with your work, taking some of Holland’s substrate (which you stored in your garage; in an old fish tank of yours) and scattering it across the new garden to make it look refreshing.

Smiling, you gather your things and head back into the house to clean up. Robert was washing his hands, his ring resting on the counter so that it wouldn’t get wet. “I’m going to shower real quick,” you explain. “Feel free to get the food started.”

“Already on it,” he laughs. “I’m starving.”

You, nod running up the stairs so that you can get ready as fast as you can. You tossed some clothes on your bed so that you wouldn’t have to shuffle through your drawers after showering: settling on leggings and a plain black t-shirt. After feeding Holland and refilling her water-bowl, you snag a towel from your closet and head to your bathroom to shower.

Having the urge to change your routine, you don’t turn the shower nozzle all the way to hot; instead, you leave it ice-cold to refresh your nerves and keep your mind alert. Also, since warm water dried your hair out (and made it hard to brush; given its length) this would be easier on you. You close your eyes, letting out a soft sigh as the water poured over your face and chilled your body.

Your eyes trail down your body for a moment, fingers trailing over a faint line that ran across your lower stomach. It was a strange mark that you always had, even since birth, and you wondered what it was. Now that you were in a relationship, you were more worried (and insecure) about what Robert would say about it. The line, which kind of reminded you of a surgical scar, had contrasted against your skin: giving you the impression that it was an undesirable thing to have on your body.

You reign yourself out of your thoughts, washing your body and hair with lavender, cucumber, and aloe. Upon leaving the bathroom, you felt a pang of hunger at the smell of tomatoes and mushrooms - Robert’s cooking always made you feel like that. After changing and drying your hair, you bounded towards Robert, who had his back turned to you, and wrapped your arms around his middle: burying your face in his back.

“That smells great,” you murmur, voice muffled by his shirt. “You should open up a restaurant if being in a museum or library doesn’t work out for you.”

“And have to deal with raging customers?” Robert jokes. “Not my thing, darling.”

You release him, peering over him to see that he was done with the sauce. You take the pot of penne, seeing that it was done boiling, and all you needed to do was strain it. You grab a bowl from the cupboard and take a small strainer spoon; gathering as much of the pasta as you can.

“So, I was thinking.”

You raise a brow, giggling. “Uh oh.”

“Hey now,” Robert pouts, smiling. “Anyways...I was thinking of going back to Castle Rock again.”

“Really?” you ask, curious. “Why? What’s the occasion?”

“I wanted you to come with me,” he continues. “It’s just something we can do every now and then. A break from all of the crazy in our lives,” he stops for a moment to grab two plates, handing you one. “A getaway.”

“I’m fine with it,” you shrug with a grin. “When’s our next trip?”

He stares at you with wide eyes. “Wait - you really want to go? I didn’t think you’d be so eager.”

“I like your idea,” you tease, bumping his hip with yours. “I have nothing better to do besides watching the Denbroughs’ kids.”

“Well,” he trails off. “...I was thinking maybe this December? I-I mean, I know you told me before that your uncle usually comes around that time, but - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you shake your head. “I think a little change is good. Besides, I’m not really close with my cousins.” You brush past him, plating your pasta and cutting a slice of Dutch bread. “Howard’s the only one who I know the most,” you shrug nonchalantly, “...and I’m sure Howard’s kind of tired of Derry at this point.”

“Don’t worry,” Robert sighs. “We all are.”

“Starting to get tired of Derry?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Only because this place is stressing you out,” he admits softly. “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

His words make your heart flutter in your chest, and your eyes light up. Before the two of you can sit down, you settle your plate on the dining table, leaning on your tippy-toes to capture Robert’s lips with your own. You let out a pleased hum when you hear him putting down is own plate, a set of hands latching themselves onto your shoulders - rubbing them, before they trail down your arms.

When he pulls away, you continue on in the night with dinner, and then watch an episode of whatever Robert was enjoying at the moment. After that, you pack your things for the night (you couldn’t stay at his place forever, since you had to watch Georgie still), and ride in Robert’s car back to his house.

You redress into a set of navy blue undergarments, pulling a silk robes over your body. Once you were done taking care of yourself, you rest in Robert’s bed, scrolling on your phone for any news. In addition to that, you sent a quick e-mail and text to your uncle Howard about your new plans for winter. Thankfully, he replied positively, leaving you happy and free to do whatever.

You can’t help but let your eyes wander when Robert enters the room, sweatpants only. You had never seen him like that before, since he had previously claimed that he wasn’t comfortable with you looking at his bare body. Now, it seemed that he was comfortable - and as he grabs a shirt from the closet, pulling it over his head, you can’t help but catch a brief look at a large birthmark on his chest. It rested over where one’s heart would be, an interesting location that you’d ask him about later.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Robert compliments.

He climbs atop the bed and over you, pulling you into a deep kiss. You hum into the kiss, weaving your fingers through his still-damp hair, closing your eyes and relishing the feeling. The sound of his heart was always the loudest like this (whenever you kissed), and it had managed to drown out all over noises; the rolling thunder outside, Maturin’s tank, and the sound of bells - 

_...bells? _

You snap open your eyes, pressing your hands to Robert’s chest. “Stop,” you order, pushing him gently so that he can get off of you. He tilts his head, more confused than hurt.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I just - ” you say, frowning. “I thought I heard...”

You sit upright, eyes roaming over the expanse of his room. All of the doors were closed, and there was no way for anything else to make any noise. And the last time you checked, Robert didn’t carry a bell on him, so this only meant that this was...

_ Another vision?  _ you groan internally.  _ Out of all of the times... _

“You heard what...?” Robert questions.

“Nevermind,” you shake your head. “Can we just go to sleep now?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I’m  _ sure,”  _ you sigh. “It’s just been a long day, y’know?”

Robert looks unconvinced, but nods nonetheless, the curiosity and concern evident on his face. There was also a bit of  _ fear  _ too, you note, but you brush it off as his confusion on the situation. He probably felt bad that he couldn’t do anything to help you about your “visions,” but he made up for that with his warm embraces and comforting words.

The smell of peppermint and cedarwood fills your senses when you hug Robert back, taking in his scent eagerly. Robert pulls the blanket over your bodies, leaning over you for a second to flick the nightstand lamp off, before settling into a comfortable position.

“Good night, darling,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Night, Robert...Sweet dreams.”


	9. Derry II: Return of the Devil (My First Love) I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...you freeze up in fear._

_I think there's a flaw in my code_  
 _These voices won't leave me alone_  
\- Halsey, “Gasoline”

* * *

You wake up in the middle of the night, again.

You’re in a tangled mess with Robert, who sleeps quietly; his head resting against the soft plush of your chest, his long arms wrapped tightly around your middle. Removing your hands from his neck, you brush some hair out of your face, and peer into the darkness. The house is quiet - except for the humming of Maturin’s tank - and you find yourself listening to Robert’s heartbeat for the longest time, before growing bored; wide-awake.

You allow your head to fall back against the pillow, closing your eyes in hopes of getting some sleep. The clock hanging next to the closet reads sometime around 3 in the morning, and you have a feeling that you’d be restless unless you sleep as soon as possible. Your hands roam the expanse of Robert’s back, dipping your hands under the collar of his shirt to caress his shoulder-blades.

He lets out an exhilarated sigh, prompting you to smile in adoration. Soon after that, Robert murmurs something in his sleep, holding you tighter and pressing his face further into your chest; his legs tangled with yours.

Your cheeks dust with a pink blush at the feeling, but make no move to wake him up. You noticed that Robert’s been on edge ever since you came back to Derry, and you wondered why - aside from his apparent distress at hearing about Dorsey Corcoran’s death, and his concern for you and your visions. You felt guilty that he pushed himself to take care of you; to ease your ailments at the expense of his well-being.

Just as your eye-lids feel heavy and your head fills with exhaustion, an itch in your foot causes you to grimace. Thinking that it was just a simple itch, you remove your hands from Robert and slowly sit upright to not wake your lover, ready to lean forward and - 

...you freeze up in fear.

At the foot of Robert’s bed, crouches a figure; barely illuminated by Maturin’s tank. You already know by the tell-tale glimmer of silver, and a head of ginger hair, that this was the clown you saw from before. Despite the fact that he  _ (it)  _ was crouched, his large frame made it so that you were at eye-level, his hand poised on your foot - his fingers trailing up to curl around your ankle.

You stare, frightened and afraid, unsure if what you were seeing was real or fake. You reach a trembling hand to shake Robert’s shoulder - to wake him up - but you’re stopped when the clown reaches his pointer finger to his cherry lips; telling you to be quiet. To make his point, his grip on your ankle tightens, a painful hold that makes you whimper quietly.

Neither of you say anything, the air growing thick.

The clown’s blue eyes break away from you for a moment when Robert stirs in his sleep, his quiet mutterings filling the eerily silent room. You watch as the clown’s face flickers into a hateful grimace - blue eyes turning a violent gold for a moment - before it fades into nothingness. The hand in front of his face lowers, resting atop of the blanket, next to your other foot.

You inhale sharply, afraid that he was going to grab your other ankle and drag you under. The hint of a smile on the clown’s lips almost makes it seem as if he  _ knows  _ that you’re thinking about the possibility of him doing that to you. His free hand inches ever so slightly in a silent promise, fingers thrumming idly against the blanket.

Even though a large part of you is screaming that this was just a vision, it feels too  _ real  _ for you to just ignore it; ignore him. You notice how the clown doesn’t breathe, nor does he blink, he simply watches and  _ waits _ . Finally, after an agonizing minute: you muster up the courage to speak up.

“What are you?” your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, “What... - ”

You’re cut off when the clown finally makes an inkling of a sound; a hiss from his mouth. You catch a brief glimpse of serrated, flaxen-stained teeth, and another flash of gold-speckled eyes, before it all fades back into the innocent façade of the clown. The grip on your ankle loosens ever so slightly, but you’re not safe yet. The tips of the clowns fingers feel sharper, prodding past the wool blanket and into the soft flesh of your ankle.

You close your mouth, allowing the clown to continue. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he was going to speak - but he does - and his voice cuts through the air and into your mind; his lilting voice etching itself into your mind.

“I,” he hisses, “am real.”

“You are evil.” It was the first thing that came to mind the first day you laid eyes on him, in the basement. A presence of violence and death reeked from him, a type of aura that mirrored your own. Your gaze flickers to his hand, noticing the prominent dark claws that nearly meld with the flimsy blanket that barely shields your ankle. If he held any tighter, then you were sure that those claws would pry right into the flesh of your ankle.

The clown giggles, a strange uncharacteristic noise (despite his looks; he was anything  _ but  _ a clown) that silences you once more. He tilts his head, a sly smirk blessing his otherwise hellish features.

“You,” he drawls out, “are  _ worse.” _

You’re not sure if you want to agree or disagree with him.

At this point, you’ve accepted that this wasn’t a vision: you were wide-awake, and time was moving as usual. The pounding of your heart was starting to become unbearable, your back was starting to hurt from how hard your heart is working to contain your fear. It was a quarter to four now, and if the clown wouldn’t go away soon enough, then Robert would wake up soon.

That was the  _ last  _ thing you wanted to happen.

“Why are you here?” You hate how meek you sound, even if you had the power to defend yourself and Robert. You had no idea what this clown (if you could even call him a clown at this point, given how  _ alien  _ his mannerisms are) could do - and you weren’t in a mood to find out.

“Why are  _ you  _ here?” he parrots, mocking your tone.

He still hasn’t let go of your ankle yet.

“What do you want?” you continue, frowning. “What - ”

“To feed,” he interrupts, growling. “To devour and  _ thrive  _ until I sleep once more.”

There’s too many questions for you to focus on, and all you can do is watch the clown. He pauses to rise from his crouching position, gaining a sharp gasp from you as he nearly towers up to the ceiling; his shadow looming over your fearful face. Satisfaction washes over his features for a brief moment before it fades into annoyance when Robert - still asleep - tightens his hold around your middle.

Suddenly aware of your situation, and Robert’s presence, terror and panic begins to take hold. The space around you seems to grow smaller, making you feel as if you were a piece of meat trapped in a lion’s cage. Any wrong move and something bad could  _ (would)  _ happen to you and Robert.

“Don’t hurt him,” you force out weakly, begging. “Leave us alone.”

The clown giggles again, shoulders trembling in a way that causes the ruffles on his collars to shake; the sound of bells echoes throughout the room. You have to hold in a scream when he grabs your other ankle, and tightens his grip: you could definitely feel the sharp sting of the nails dig into your ankles. He presses against the bed so that he’s leaning forward - his face a few feet from yours.

“Now why would  _ I  _ do that?” he ponders, tilting his head.

You have to hold in a gag when his putrid breath wafts over your face. It’s as if he’s eaten something rotten, or something was rotting in his mouth. In the midst of his cheerful and childlike persona, you can see -  _ feel _ \- something sinister behind that goofy laugh and baby blue eyes. You open your mouth to reply, when he sneers, tugging your ankles that makes tears brim in your eyes.

The faint stench of blood fills your senses.

You have a feeling that the clown can smell it too.

“Do not speak,” he hisses. “...lest you want me to rip your ankles off.”

You comply, clasping a quivering hand over your mouth, nodding your head feverishly to make your point. You can’t help but feel as if he could care less if you complied or not - he was more than capable of following through his threat. Pleased by your compliance, the clown leans back ever so slightly, but his glower still remains.

Robert stirs again, much to your horror, eliciting a growl from the clown. His averts his gaze back to you, giving you a toothy grin: full of those shark-like teeth that you had seen earlier. A glimmer of hope bubbles in your chest when he releases your ankles, finally, but watch in horror as he brings his clawed digits up to his mouth.

There’s no words to describe the amount of disgust you feel when he licks the blood off; the way he shudders and lets his eyes loll back in their sockets in an unnatural way - as if your blood was the best thing he’s had in a while. If you weren’t so focused on wanting to keep Robert safe, you were sure that you’d pass out right now from the shock and horror.

When the clown is done, you can’t help but notice how he’s drooling now; salivating out of  _ hunger.  _ His words from earlier  _ (“To feed.”)  _ only edge your fear even more, and you have a vague sense as to  _ what  _ he wants to eat. Once more, you try to push back the fear in case you need to be aware and ready to defend yourself.

The clown takes a few steps, eyes trailing from your blood-smeared ankles, and then back to your equally wine-colored eyes. A series of pops and cracks prompts you to glance at his hands - gloved and human-like;  _ normal.  _ His eyes are no longer a bombastic blue, but a bloody concoction of ruby, amber, and bleeding crimson; the colors matching his hunger and thirst for blood.

“Who are you?” you blurt out, regret following soon after.

The question had been on your mind ever since you first saw the clown, and it was the only one you could focus on at the moment. You cower and stare up at the clown fearfully, pressing further into the bed to avoid his leering. As always, annoyance and malice fades into a faux happiness and glee - and you have a vague sense of how this...creature behaves.

“Oh-ho-ho! How polite of you to ask!” he giggles, his voice lilting into a lighter, childish one.

Instead of answering your question he cocks his head to the side, his hands reaching for his left ear. Like an act in a circus, he begins to pull iridescent-colored fabric from his ear until he’s left with a large, billowy fabric. He lets out a fake gasp, straightening the fabric with a strong tug, and then he’s throwing the fabric over his head.

You’re not sure to feel afraid or in awe when the fabric doesn’t create a full-body silhouette of the clown. Instead, it simply falls from down and in the clown’s place, is a red balloon - his signature item. Silence fills the room, sans Robert’s light snoring and Maturin’s tank, and you sit in bed: waiting for the clown to come back once more.

He doesn’t.

It takes you another hour for you to shift out of Robert’s hold and hobble over to the balloon; which still hasn’t moved, as if it was anchored to the floor by something. Your ankles sting with dull pain, the blood sticky and dry against your skin - how you were going to explain your injury, and bloody sheets to Robert, you didn’t know - and when you reach the balloon, you look down.

As you suspected, it was weighed down by a rock, the white string tied around the base of it. The fabric that the clown used in his “disappearing act” was still there, left untouched. Underneath the rock, was a piece of paper that piques your curiosity. Wincing as you crouch down, you move the rock over to the side and pick up the note.

It’s written in poor penmanship, as if a child (or someone with no motor control at all) had written it.

The red lettering, smeared, already gave you an inkling of sense that this was written in blood - the smell alone was a tell-tale sign. Exhausted and realizing that you weren’t going to get any sleep for the rest of the day, you read the note with a blank expression. The balloon next to you inches ever so slightly as you read in silence, the string nudging your hand as if it wants you to hold it.

> _ A gift from your friend, Pennywise! _
> 
> _ See you tonight! :) _

* * *

Somehow, you managed to get Robert to avoid the bloody mess in the bed.

Oblivious to the balloon and other things that the clown left, Robert went about his business by kissing you and grabbing a few clothes from his closet; heading over the bathroom to go through his daily routine. While he was doing that, you quickly went to gathering the items and shoved them into a pantry in his house, and grimaced at the bloody mess.

You had cleaned up your wounds, a perfect ringlet of pinpricks that surrounded the base of your ankles, and covered them up with socks. Now all that was left was your blood, which seeped through one part of the blanket, and was smeared all over one corner of his bedsheets. Guilt and shame filled your mind at your decision for not telling Robert about this - you  _ should’ve  _ told him about this. You should’ve told him that his life was in danger, and that it was best for you and him to move out of Derry as soon as possible.

But things weren’t so clear-cut, you realized.

Moving away wouldn’t stop him...It, whatever “Pennywise” was, and you were sure that he would’ve held his gruesome sentiments towards your other loved ones. Fear returns more, thinking about Georgie - or the Denbroughs; no doubt, everyone in Derry was a target. And you had no idea how long this would last until he returned back into “sleep” again.

As you fixed yourself a bowl of cereal downstairs, Robert was still getting ready upstairs, you couldn’t help but feel on edge as you ate alone. It felt as though as the clown was always watching your movements now, more so from when you first started seeing him. A flutter of panic filled your heart every time you thought you saw a glimmer of silver in the corner of your eye - wisps of ginger and red reflecting off from the windows before you realized that it was just birds outside.

Was he watching you right now? What was he doing?

...was he “feeding” right now?

Nausea pools in your gut at the thought, remembering back to how he licked your blood off of his fingers like it was candy. You push the bowl of cereal away from you, wincing as your eyes rest on the freeze-dried strawberries inside of it - the color reminding you of your blood. You avert your gaze to the basement, realizing why it was there.

You rein yourself from your thoughts when footsteps resonate from the stairs, paranoia filling in. Relief floods your senses when it’s only Robert - who was blissfully unaware of your encounter, and your fear. He rubs at his head with a towel, brown locks of hair jutting out in different directions. Had you not been so on edge this morning, you would’ve giggled at his appearance.

“Morning,” you greet quietly.

Even if you were uneasy, and deathly afraid that Pennywise would return again - although, he did claim in his note that he was arriving tonight, you doubted that he would hold onto that promise - you still had to act as if everything was okay. The last thing you wanted, was for Robert to catch onto your discovery and stick his nose in as well.

If anything happened to him, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Darling,” Robert greets back, smiling. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Just cereal,” you shrug. “I’m not in the mood to cook.”

He raises a brow at your curt responses but doesn’t reply, throwing the towel over a chair as he makes his way to the fridge: rummaging through it. You lower your hands to grasp at your knees, biting the inside of your cheek. An itch at the back of your head causes you to turn around quickly, only to realize that nothing was there.

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over your face.

Today was going to be a really,  _ really  _ long day.

* * *

Robert feels like today is a good day.

After spending the morning with his  _ darling,  _ helping them watch over Georgie, he finds himself lounging on their couch while they clean up the mess in the kitchen. He crosses a leg over the other, resting a hand on the back of his head as he assumes a relaxed position.

Hearing his  _ darling  _ hum a quiet tune in the kitchen makes Robert’s nerves at ease, and his mind at peace. After coming to the conclusion that they really did have some sort of memory relapse - though he’d have to try and ask The Turtle (despite not having talked to him in a couple of years) why he did that - Robert felt more relaxed than usual.

As expected, Richard Macklin, Dorsey Corcoran’s step-father, was immediately set up in a court trial, and was sentenced for life at Shawshank Prison. It seemed as though everything was going the same as the other reality, the only thing being different was that the “evil upon Derry” was no longer here.

No one would die. 

Maybe there was the threat of either Henry Bowers or Patrick Hockstetter getting in the way (even without his influence in the other reality, those two boys were violent in nature), and Robert had a feeling that he’d have to deal with them on his own soon.

Other than that, life was smooth and normal; routine.

Even though he was still incredibly bitter, and  _ angry  _ that he had to “take care” of everyone - Robert would rather run away with his  _ darling.  _ If things were up to him, he’d make is so that all that they could focus on: was him. But alas, things didn’t work like that and The Turtle demanded that Robert would comply to the agreement.

Even he wouldn’t want to anger the Other; whom all parties were eternally grateful for.

“Hey, Rob?” his  _ darling  _ calls.

Robert sits upright, turning his head and replies quickly, eager to be in their presence. “Yes, darling?” he says, his heart fluttering slightly at the sight of them coming from the kitchen.

Oddly enough, they were wearing socks and longer clothing - different from their dress-oriented fashion - but he didn’t oppose to their change in fashion. They still smiled at him the same, staring at him with their enrapturing crimson eyes. Robert has to stop himself from looking like a love-sick idiot before it gets embarrassing.

He was still getting used to expressing his feelings openly.

“Do you want to head into town?” they query. “I was thinking of going to the mall.”

_ I can do anything you want,  _ Robert thinks to himself.  _ As long as I’m with you. _

He nods, rising from his seat, turning off the TV with the remote. Grabbing his phone and slipping a hoodie over his body, he laces his fingers with theirs - closing his eyes at the feeling. Even now, their hands were still small,  _ they  _ were still small; delicate. He enjoyed picking them up by the waist to twirl in circles in a lazy dance, and he enjoyed the nights they spent together, cuddling together.

Despite him growing more impatient as the days went on, he’ll stave off his needs for theirs. It was clear that they wanted to take things slow - and he couldn’t blame them. This was their first relationship (and this was Robert’s second time with them; his second chance), and he wanted to do everything he could to make sure that this would be the only relationship that they’d be in.

He’d make sure that he was the only one who they loved.

His  _ darling  _ drove through the suburbs, and onto Main Street - families out and about; getting ready for Halloween in the coming weeks. Robert remembered vividly, of his experiences in the other reality. He remembered dancing with this  _ darling  _ with the sole goal of devouring them in the end. He remembered being fascinated by their nature, even without their lights they were an intriguing case to him, and he remembered the exact moment when he came to accept his feelings.

Who would’ve thought, he - the Eater of Worlds - would be in  _ love. _

He had undergone an extreme change, in both worlds, that made him realize the importance of feelings; of emotions. He came to appreciate his “parents”, even if they originally started out as figments of his imaginary persona turned real. It was strange to think that he was related to Robert (who went as Bob) Gray, the  _ first  _ one; the man who he originally murdered and stole the alter ego of.

He technically didn’t know much about his “great-grandfather” in this world, taking what he could from his past knowledge in the other reality - but Bob had still faced a mysterious fate/death. As he realized before, things in this world were the same; it was just lacking the Eater of Worlds to further the violent havoc.

All the same, Derry was still, as his  _ darling  _ put it, “A shit-hole.”

Robert realized that the rest of the world, despite only travelling through a couple of states, was no different. He had barely scratched the surface on humanity, and him actually having to take classes to further enhance his knowledge - was strange, but interesting.

Humans were fascinating, and to be one himself was a strange experience.

But it was also pleasant, enjoyable and  _ new. _

There were benefits to being human.

He didn’t worry about satiating his (now-nonexistent) endless hunger; he didn’t have to worry about pesky adults coming into Derry and “investigating” missing people; and he didn’t have the Crimson King breathing down his neck. The latter was one of the many big changes in Robert’s life, and he was thankful for whatever person or thing had led to the death of the King. Now that Robert didn’t have any major goals of destruction, nor did he have a need for it, he could agree with the White that plunging the world into nothingness wasn’t appealing.

“Robert?” his  _ darling’s  _ voice interrupts.

He hums, turning his head to them. They had been walking in the mall, hand in hand, for a while; enjoying the experience with him rather than actually spending their money. His  _ darling  _ smiles, nudging their head towards the pretzel stand. “Did you want some pretzels?” they ask.

Robert nods again, mirroring their reflection.

“I’ll grab a seat,” he explains. “Get me a lemonade too, please.”

“Of course,” they giggle, nudging his shoulder with theirs. “Anything for you.”

Robert can’t help but smile when they parrot his quote that he uses for them, a promise that they’d be there for each other. He brings out his phone, a habit that was really welcome with how addicting the device was, and idly scrolls through one of the social media apps that his  _ darling  _ downloaded for him.

There were a lot of abstract and (in Robert’s opinion) stupid pictures on his explore page, which his  _ darling  _ explained beforehand as “memes”. Of course, he did have some knowledge on it - being born in the same “generation” as them - but he couldn’t actually  _ enjoy  _ them. They were just pictures and words jumbled together without meaning. Like - 

“Excuse me?” a voice calls.

Robert frowns, bringing his attention away from the phone, and averts it to a woman standing at the table he was sitting at. She’s short, probably barely reaching up to his  _ darling’s  _ shoulders, with wavy champagne-colored hair (brown at the roots) and amber eyes. With a plain face, she could’ve easily been a carbon copy of another girl here in the mall. She’s clad in a black crop-top, ripped faded blue jeans, brand-name shoes, and a black choker around her neck.

Robert has to hide the grimace of disgust and annoyance upon seeing her.

_ Be nice,  _ he could practically hear The Turtle say. Releasing a sigh of disappointment, Robert places his phone facing down and laces his fingers together, looking up at the girl expectantly. “Can I help you?” he nearly deadpans, raising a brow.

“I - Uhm, yes,” she replies, trying to display herself as being innocent and docile. If Robert still had his powers, he would’ve picked apart every little thing about her, and show her that she was flawed and not worth his time. She smirks, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Can I sit here?” she questions, pointing to the empty seat; obviously, Robert saved that for his  _ darling. _

Robert’s face falls flat into muteness. “No,” he says.

The girl pouts but seems determined nonetheless. “Aw,” she pouts, whining. Unseen by her, Robert’s foot taps impatiently beneath the table - if she continued any further, than Robert was sure that he was going to snap at her. The girl crosses her arms, leaning on one leg. “Why not?” she pries snobbishly; irritated that she wasn’t getting what she wanted.

“This seat’s taken,” Robert states flatly, motioning his head towards his  _ darling.  _ “By them.”

The girl’s eyes flicker over to his  _ darling  _ before they return back to Robert, almost incredulous.  _ “That  _ girl?” she asks, her voice full of mild disgust. Robert nods, causing the girl to visibly frown. “They’re not worth your time,” she says. “Why don’t you come with me - ”

Clenching his fists, Robert rises from his seat and towers over the girl, who thoroughly shuts up and backs away with fear. Robert doesn’t need any words to get his point across, having done this practice for centuries, and he feels a bit of pride when the girl staggers on her feet before she’s off; like a dog with a tail between its legs. Satisfied, he sits back down and smooths his hoodie, picking up his phone to continue scrolling like nothing had happened.

Soon after, his  _ darling  _ returns with the food and drinks - bringing a smile to his face. “Thanks,” Robert sighs happily, taking the cold cup of lemonade from one of their hands.

Human food was another thing that had always astonished Robert.

Whereas fear was the  _ ultimate  _ flavor (and he had to admit at times that fear would always taste better than anything), there were so many different spices and flavors that the human palate could take in. Different foods were made with different tastes; and each type of food could fulfill a different type of hunger.

_ Feeling bloated?  _ He could just snack on something small.

_ Starving but he wanted something light?  _ He could just eat a salad, or snack again.

And the list went on and on, further proving Robert’s point that being human was a unique experience. There was also the phenomenon of media and technology - which Robert had to think about on a different level entirely. For now, he was enjoying the moment with his  _ darling  _ like every other day. If another him  _ did  _ exist, then it would surely be reeling in disgust at how much Robert was enjoying himself.

“Oh,” Robert utters out, remembering something important. “I got the job.”

“Really?” their eyes widen. “At the library.”

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah...it wasn’t too hard to get it, actually.”

Despite how strange he acted in his job interview, Robert didn’t really see a need in having one - considering his educational career - but the library insisted on it; and so, he complied,  _ barely.  _ Thankfully, the library accepted him in a heart-beat since they were short on staff.

“When’s your first day?”

“Sometime this week...why?”

His  _ darling  _ pouts, shrugging. “I’m going to miss you,” they say. “We won’t see each other as often.”

...and now, Robert regrets applying for a job.

But he couldn’t live off of his savings - which was a worthy investment indeed, thanks to his parents - forever, and he didn’t want his “status” to lower just because he was labelled as being  _ unemployed.  _ Besides, if he was going to meet his  _ darling’s  _ uncle (whom Robert remembered being incredibly judgmental), he needed to impress him. Knowing Howard, education wasn’t enough for him. Howard Randall was more interested in  _ how  _ one used their education.

“I’ll miss you too,” Robert says honestly.

He leans over to hold their hand, brushing his thumb over their smooth skin. They share a smile; a look of relief that says that everything was going to be okay. He continues, in a softer voice, “But I’ll look forward to seeing your face whenever I come home.”

That merits a wider smile from his  _ darling,  _ and Robert nearly closes his eyes at how adorable they looked; how full of love they were.

He sits there with them like that for thirty more minutes, sharing future plans and talking about their life together. Robert had a feeling that he was going to move in with them (or vice versa), and the fluttering of his heart only grows at the thought. Waking up to them  _ every  _ day, embracing each other at night, and maybe; start a family - 

Robert was walking out of the mall and down Pasture Road when a lamppost catches his eye. Covered in staples over time, like other lampposts in Derry (something that Robert couldn’t explain; since “It” didn’t exist in this world), this particular lamppost had something attached to it that made Robert’s blood run cold.

He freezes in his step, eyes glancing at the police officer who stapled the paper to the lamppost, before directing his attention to said paper. Beside him, his  _ darling  _ asks him if he’s okay - but their words are drowned out by the sound of Robert’s heart pounding in his ears. His throat goes tight, and his hands feel clammy. He can only focus on the words plastered on the paper, and the colored picture of a young boy.

> POLICE DEPARTMENT   
>  CITY OF DERRY
> 
> **MISSING**
> 
> RICKY JACOB BRYCE   
>  9 YEARS OLD
> 
> LAST SEEN  **OCTOBER 8**
> 
> **DESCRIPTION:** DATE OF BIRTH: NOVEMBER 3, 2007. MALE, 9 YRS. HEIGHT: 54 INCHES. WEIGHT: 73 LBS. BLONDE HAIR, BLUE EYES. WEARING “MINECRAFT CREEPER” HOODIE, WHITE POLO, BLUE JEANS, NAVY BLUE NIKE SNEAKERS.
> 
> PERSONS HAVING ANY INFORMATION   
>  ARE REQUESTED TO CALL THE DERRY P.D.

Before he can form another coherent thought, Robert feels his world spinning and his stomach lurching. His hand loosens and he staggers forward, clasping a hand over his mouth - as he realizes that his breaths are coming out short and shallow. He takes a few more steps forward, and then, his world fades into nothingness.

* * *

You find yourself pacing back and forth in the waiting room.

Your wringing your hands together to the point where your bones grind together, popping the knuckles at every chance you could get. Now the hall, a nurse is currently examining the now-unconscious Robert - who had suddenly collapsed while walking down Pasture Road. You had been walking with him when he suddenly grew anxious for no reason, letting go of your hand and taking a few steps forward; only to faint moments after.

It didn’t take long for you to drive to the hospital (there was no way that you were going to pay for an ambulance), and if you weren’t in public, you would’ve just teleported there anyway. But things didn’t work like that, and at least Robert was getting the help that he needed now. When your legs grow weary, you plop down on the recliner that faced an old TV.

The recliner groans under your weight, the worn and stained fabric causing you to grimace out of discomfort. The smell of the hospital would never be taken lightly by you; an awful stench that mixed in with the old carpets of the waiting room. Finally, after an agonizing twenty minutes or so, the nurse exits and calls your surname, prompting you to rise from your seat.

“Is he okay?” you pry worriedly. “What happened to him? Is he - ”

“Mr. Gray will be fine,” the nurse nods. “His vitals are fine, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong internally.” She pauses, motioning to where Robert’s room was. She continues in a sympathetic voice, noticing your distress. “He’s awake right now, but he doesn’t seem to be very responsive at the moment, which is worrying for us. We were hoping that you could get him to open up.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you mutter, nodding.

You’re not sure if this is how it usually went in hospitals, having only been here a few times, but the Derry Home Hospital staff were extremely relaxed (for the most part) and they still had yet to upgrade on their technology. While the nurse heads off to tend to another patient, you enter Robert’s room, slowly pushing the door open.

He’s lying in a hospital bed, the left sleeve of his hoodie rolled up to allow an IV line to pass fluids through - since he looked incredibly haggard and dehydrated upon you admitting him here. A nearly blank gaze is on his face, eyes gazing to you for a moment in relief; but it still fades into mute shock, or silence (you’re not sure which one it is).

You pull up a chair up to his side, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “Robert,” you coax in a soft voice. “Rob tell me, what happened?”

Much to your chagrin, he doesn’t respond: merely letting out a frustrated huff through his nostrils. You notice the fear in his eyes, and you can hear it in his heart; you can hear it on the EKG monitor.

Despite looking fine mere moments ago, Robert looks as if he’s seen a ghost - his shoulders are slumped in a way that tells you that he’s feeling more than hopeless right now. You remove your hand from his arm, unsure what to do. Biting your lip, anxiously tugging at it between your teeth, you rise from your seat and head out. It doesn’t take long for you to tell the staff that it’s best if they monitor Robert, since he didn’t seem incredibly responsive nor competent to decide on his own; and you hate that you have to do this for him.

You don’t know  _ why  _ he’s like this, but you hope to make it better - make him better. When you return, you find Robert sleeping, his exhaustion evident, and you follow him soon after you settle things with his nurse and the hospital. For a brief moment, you forgot about the pain in your ankles, and the note (that Pennywise wrote for you) in your back-pocket.

You forgot that he was coming to visit again tonight.

* * *

The confusion always comes first when you wake up.

Your head spins, and your stomach growls when you wake up so late at night (or rather, early in the morning), but the feeling of eyes watching your every movement causes you to liven up and analyze the room. It doesn’t take long for you to meet the clown’s blue eyes - and on instinct, you stagger off of the chair and onto your feet, your hands balling into fists.

“You did this,” you hiss out in a whisper. “Didn’t you!?”

Pennywise giggles, taking long strides towards you. His arms sway along his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them, the lanky limbs moving with each step he takes towards you. Now feeling a bit defensive, despite your obvious fear, you clench your jaw and stare down the inhuman creature - 

_ “IIIIII,”  _ he drags the word out, squeezing your nose like a teasing grandmother would do to her kin; drinking in your fear and worry like wine. Pennywise giggles again, his free hand holding something crumbled inside. “I,” he repeats again, “did nothing of the sort,  _ princess.”  _ For a moment you thought that he was trying to tease you with the nickname, before you soon remembered that he was mocking your surname.

Pennywise steps back lazily opening his closed fist, allowing a crumpled paper ball to roll out to the heels of your feet. Not taking your eyes away from the clown, you bend down and grab the ball. You avert your gaze once you unravel the paper, reading the bold print...

Horror, clear as day, etches your features when you realize that you’re staring at a  _ missing persons  _ poster. Seeing that little boy’s smiling face only reminds you of Georgie - heightening your fear. Nausea returns, tenfold, when you remember what his idea of “food” was; wanting to vomit out your lunch. A clear smile, sickening sweet, graces the clown’s features.

“Oh, my!” he tuts, mocking your expression. “My, my,  _ my.  _ You should see the look on your face! Are you going to faint like him too?”

To make his point, his pristine features morph into an eerily familiar visage:  _ your  _ face. Everything was dead right to the center; from your crimson-colored doe-eyes; to the way your hair was parted; and he even got down the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were afraid. You drop the poster, taking a few steps back.

Pennywise continues to mock you, clasping his gloved fingers around his neck as he imitates choking noises; his tongue  _ (your tongue)  _ lolling out as your other’s face turns cherry red from a lack of oxygen. He let out a series of dry cackles when you stumble against the chair behind you, falling against it with a thud. He doubles over and slaps his knee as if he’s seen the funniest thing in the world.

All the while, he’s still wearing your face.

“You look _sssooo_ _scared!”_ he cheers with a wicked grin. At that same moment, his features meld back into the clown, but this time he’s drooling again: and then you realize, he’s hungry.

He struts towards you again, so close that you’re touching noses with him. To your surprise his nose feels like any other nose; as if the red on his nose is more than just make-up - it’s his skin. He sneers at you, a low growl resonating from his throat as all fun and games are thrown away.

“You’re so full,” he trails off. “...of  _ fffffear.” _

At that moment a serpentine tongue slithers out between his jagged buck-teeth, licking a thin trail from your jawline; to the bridge of your nose. You hold back in a gag when you feel the drool coat your face - the smell just as bad as his breath. Pennywise backs away from you, licking his lips and savoring the flavor of whatever you wafted off.

_ Fear,  _ you remind yourself.  _ He lives off of fear. _

When the clown opens his eyes, they’re a violent array of gold and red: like the sun.

_ “Oh,”  _ he moans. “How easy it would be to rip that pretty little face off of you.”

You gulp, nails digging into your jeans. He reaches a hand up, thrumming his fingers along your temple, reminding you of a spider (like when Holland crawled up your arm when you allowed her to). Your thoughts are stopped when Pennywise sneers again, his fingers weaving through your hair and tugging forward, prompting a sharp cry from you.

“Or  _ maybeeeee,”  _ he drawls, his voice lowering into a deep timbre. He forces you to turn your head, to look at Robert: was still blissfully unaware of the danger that was in his hospital room. “Maybe...” he repeats, cackling.

“...I’ll do it to  _ him _ instead.”

“No!” you whisper, horrified. “Don’t!”

“Whatar’ya gonna do,  _ hmmm,  _ little princess?” he tilts his head. “Gonna poof me away with your weedkiller?” he pauses to hack out another fit of laughs, withered flowers jutting out of his mouth, the same ones that Robert bought for you; the ones you killed with your powers. Pennywise hacks again to free his throat of the intrusion, drool and spit spilling onto the hospital tiles. Another wicked look fills his eyes, which flicker back into a child-like wonder. “Gonna give me a life lesson, like little ol’ Georgie in time-out?”

He’s mocking you again, but the minor mention of Georgie gets you to enter in a frantic state of mind. First he threatened to hurt Robert, but if anything happened to  _ your  _ kid - 

“Please,” you beg, on the brink of crying. “Please, don’t...I...”

“I-I - ” he taunts, baring his teeth at you. “You  _ what - ?” _

“I’ll do anything you want!” you cry. “Please just...just don’t hurt them!”

Pennywise freezes at that moment, like a marionette connected to strings, and his left eye breaks its focus to stare at you; his other eye trailing over to the missing poster. The grip on your hair freezes, but it trails down to the nape of your neck, forcing you to follow his line of sight - the poster. If he held any tighter; he’d break your neck.

“Anything?” he utters cheerfully.

You nod anxiously, jerking your head with what little movement you could muster up. With wide eyes, you watch as his grin widens to an unnatural proportion - revealing rows upon rows of saw-like teeth. The yellow has returned, but it’s so dark with red that you can see your reflection in his eyes.

It was at that moment you knew you made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoh boy, here we go you guys!
> 
> Looks like the Reader got themselves into trouble at the expense of keeping their loved ones safe. What do you think Pennywise has in store for the Reader? How do you think this will turn out? Obv. the Reader still goes to Castle Rock and such; but there's going to be a lot of changes to the canon.
> 
> Like I stated in the tags: this story is _not_ canon compliant.
> 
> I hope you guys can tolerate me writing Pennywise—and I hope I did the character some justice. As you can tell, I'm more into writing Robert's character than the clown, but I hope that what I'm providing is satisfactory enough for you all! I'm not a pro at writing Pennywise, so please bear with me since he's going to be a big part of CHAPTER II. I feel like how I write him is kinda bland and not as interesting in this story, so please let me know on how I can improve on writing him!
> 
> SWMFL (Part 1) Readers, did you catch the call-backs in this chapter? :)
> 
> Your feedback matters a lot to me, and it honestly makes my day to read your comments—especially the long ones! Tell me your thoughts! Let me know everything you think of about the story! Your words mean the world to me, and I hope to do the same by posting these chapters for you all.


	10. Derry II: Return of the Devil (My First Love) II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A hungry animal._
> 
> Gen. warning for explicit sexual content.

_Hold my hand, flow back to the summer time_  
 _Tangled in the willows, now comes the tide_  
\- Glass Animals, “Gooey”

* * *

You sat in the seat beside his hospital bed, eyes darting anxiously at every little shadow and shift in the atmosphere. Your hands were gripping your knees, practically fisting your jeans with how tight your hold was. Your calf burns, searing with pain so intense that you couldn’t sleep - there was nothing for you to focus on but Robert’s steady breathing; and the throbbing pain. There was no blood when it happened, and if there was the clown would’ve lapped it all up either way.

Swallowing a knot in your throat, you couldn’t do anything else  _ but  _ wait for Robert to wake up. On one hand, you were still adjusting to what had happened - what you allowed it to do to you. On the other hand, your heart went out to the single child whose life was taken a few days ago.  _ (For all you knew, if you didn’t do anything, then that kid might as well have been Georgie.) _

In a way, there was no satisfaction from this “deal” that you made.

Even though you were saving so many lives by doing this - by agreeing to his terms - you were doing so at the expense of your own safety and sanity. When Robert finally wakes up, its six hours after your visit from the clown.

He stirs awake, letting out a tired hiss through his teeth, sitting upright with his hands running through his hair. When he opens his eyes you can see the clear confusion (and fear) in them; his surroundings unfamiliar to him. At the same time, he seems to have a general idea as to what happened - and you wondered if he remembered what he saw.

The missing person poster.

“Hey,” you say with a weak smile.

Even though it hurts to get up, having to hide the hobble in your step, you rise from your seat and lean on the hospital bed: grasping his arms gently. Robert’s features soften ever so slightly when his gaze lands on you, and you can tell that he’s forcing a smile too.  _ Does he know about it - about the clown?  _ you question in your mind.  _ He told me that he could feel the “evil in Derry”, but I can’t have him stick his nose into that. _

_ I don’t want him to get hurt. _

“Hey,” Robert greets back. “What...What happened?”

He takes a moment to take in his surroundings once more, pursing his lips in thought. “I...” he trails off, frowning. “I remember...”

“You fainted, Rob,” you reply. “I don’t know why - ”

“The poster - !” he interrupts suddenly, eyes widening. His memory seemed to work much faster than you anticipated, and it hurt you to see him so distressed; so afraid. The EKG picks up its rhythm ever so slightly, and it takes you all your power and strength to keep him calm. Robert furrows his brows, trying to break from your iron grip - but you don’t let him.

You need to calm him down, even if what you’re telling him is a lie.

“I know,” you start, “I saw it too.”

Robert tenses up even more, but stops his panicking to listen to what you have to say. You slide a hand over the front of his hoodie, resting it where his heart would be, while your other hand soothingly runs up and down on the base of his arm. You continue. “A kid went missing a few days ago,” a pause, “he was found a few hours ago...After that, his parents moved away with him.”

“I - ...Are you sure...?” he asks, confused.

You nod, giving him a sympathetic smile. You can feel yourself screaming in your mind to tell him the truth; to tell him what you did to make sure that he and your family wouldn’t be hurt. But the pain in your calf reminds you otherwise, and you realize that you’re losing control in this battle. A feeling inside of you says that the clown was probably delighting in your torment.

...it probably was right now.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Must’ve scared you quite a bit for you to faint.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just...it reminded me of...” Robert lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not important,” he says before you can question his words. He averts his gaze to the IV plugged into him, and the EKG machine that was beeping soundly. His shoulders tense and the fear was clear in his eyes, but he holds himself differently - strongly.

Whether it was for you, or for himself, you didn’t know.

“Can we get out of here?” he chuckles, holding up his arm. “Hospital beds aren’t my forte.”

That gets you to laugh, kissing his cheek. “Of course.”

* * *

He comes back on the following night.

You’re in your home, allowing Robert to rest at his house after the stress he’s been going through this past month. Obviously, he was working himself over because all of this strange, unnatural stuff that’s been going on with you (and Derry). You were expecting  _ him,  _ the clown, to return the night you left with Robert, but it doesn’t. Instead, he allowed you to rest and regain your strength until he came back while you were in bed: taking care of Holland.

The closet door creaks open, and accepting your fate - you turn around.

You’re met with a rather...unsettling sight.

Perched up on the upper shelf of your closet, is Pennywise: in all of his terrifying glory. He’s contorted his body into an unnatural shape, as if he was trapped inside of some invisible box. His limbs crossed over one another, tightly winding his body up together - his head was twisted the other way, perched under his foot: which was bent backwards.

You’re not sure to be impressed or afraid, to be honest.

The clown speaks before you could say anything, his childish trill implanting itself into your mind. “Not going to say hello?” he giggles, craning his neck towards you. You bite back a cringe at the sound of his neck snapping.

“Didn’t know we were being friendly,” you whisper back, protectively holding Holland in your hands.

“Oh?” he questions. “Why - ! Hehe,” Pennywise stops to unravel himself from his contortions: his compacted body thudding loudly against the floorboards. Like a doll, or a marionette, his limbs twist and turn until they’re back to normal (then again, what  _ is  _ normal about him?). When he’s done, he takes a few strides towards you, pinching your cheek with his gloved fingers; gushing. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I - ” you pause, startled by the sudden intrusion. “...I don’t...”

It seemed as though the clown had gotten a little  _ too  _ close to you, because as he moved his hand back: he recoiled harshly, letting a strangled noise. You were confused for a moment, until you looked down at Holland: whose front legs were poised up in a defensive position.

_ Did she...did she just bite him? _

Though you doubted that her venom would affect the clown (the most her bites did for you was give you a bad rash), Pennywise looked surprised that this had happened in the first place. His surprised features soon take on a sneering glare, but he still smiles and giggles all the same.

“Brat,” he grits out. His eyes, snapping yellow and red like wildfire, light up in delight at you.

He composes himself, straightening his posture and bending over to pat you on the head again. You honestly have no idea why he’s doing this, but you’re too afraid to question his actions. If anything, that probably would’ve made him rip your head off or something - you hold back the nausea at remembering what he said he did to that poor kid...

Remembering his words from the night before, you ask him: “Are you here to - ”

“No,” he cuts you off.

Just as you anticipated, the hand on your head stills, fisting your hair into his large hand.

Taking in the clown’s expression, you watch as he goes from happy, to cold, to downright  _ blank.  _ He raises his hand, lifting you up with it - and you have to hold in a yelp as he does this, feeling Holland jump out of your hands and crawl wherever into your room.  _ (That’s the least of your worries; she’ll always come back to you.)  _ Pennywise leans forward, burying his face into your neck. His breath is hot and steamy, scalding against your chilled skin, as he takes in your scent: smelling your fear.

“No,” he repeats again, hissing. “Not enough...” He pauses to sniff again, dragging his nose along your jawline, to your jugular. Panicked, remembering what happened last night, you grab the ruffles of his collar in attempts to stop him. He pulls away sharply to stare into your eyes. From his body language, you have a feeling that he’s frustrated.

“Your fear is weak,” he sneers. “Why?”

You choke on your words, intimidated and afraid by him - why was he talking to you as if you weren’t? When you don’t reply, Pennywise lets out a frustrated huff and unceremoniously lets go of your hair. You fall back against the bed, letting out a pained groan while the clown continues to watch your every movement.

When you meet his leering gaze, something inside of him just changes (again; he’s unpredictable), and he’s back to his cheerful self. “You think you’re a brave little girl, don’tcha?” he taunts, looming over you. “You think you’re so...strong...?”

And then, he’s lunging at you at full force.

Letting out a panicked half-scream, half-cry, you roll over until your body makes contact with the ground. Wood splinters and a resounding crack is heard, but your attention is only brought on by the pain in your calf, and the soreness that wracks your body. You cough and sputter, tears brimming your eyes. When you recover, you’re met face-to-face with the clown, who lets out something akin to a chittering laugh. You jump back in alarm - whilst hitting your head against the corner of your desk in the process - breathing heavily.

Pennywise, of course, delights in your terror and fear, giggling all the same. His bottom lip spews out drool, which splatters from the floorboards and onto your legs. You swallow back a gag, trying to distance yourself away from the clown as much as you could, burying your face in your neck. A hand,  _ his  _ hand, latches onto your chin and forces you to stare at him in the eyes: fearful red meeting hungry amber.

“There it is,” he whispers. “...fear.”

Your hands balled into fists once more, your breath quickening and your heart racing. The more you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin, the more frantic you became. “Please,” you shudder. “Stop.”

“Stop?  _ Stop?”  _ Pennywise giggles.

He looks like he’s torn between being happy that you’re talking to him, and angry that you’re making demands. His hand tightens, causing you to let out a strangled cry. He’s so close to dislocating your jaw, his fingers pressing right into the delicate spaces; his thumb pressing tightly into your neck. You can feel your lungs burning for air the more his thumb presses into your neck.

“Why would I stop when you smell so,  _ so  _ good?”

You open your mouth to speak, but could only let out choked gasps - thrashing under his hold. You reach out to grasp at his forearm when his grip becomes a little too tight. If you could see yourself, you’d probably be turning a faint shade of pink. His arm felt hard, as if the limb under that pleated, layered sleeve was a hard shell, like a crab; like an insect. His hands felt cold, despite the raging heat that was his rage had displayed.

Underneath that unpredictable exterior, you could only see one thing.

A hungry animal.

“You would be the tastiest,” he shudders, giggling. “...far,  _ far  _ better than fear.”

“T-T-Th - Then,” you choke out, “wh-why haven’t y-y-you - why haven’t y-you killed m-me ye - ”

You stop talking when he applies more pressure to your neck, efficiently shutting you up. His other hand snakes up your arm, idly twirling a few strands of your hair with his fingers - as if he had staved his interest of your fear to focus on you. His eyes lazily drift over your face, mirth evident in his eyes every time you wince and heave.

Pennywise hums obnoxiously, mulling over your question.

“I could feel you,” he says quietly.

His tone neither taunting nor cruel -  _ blank.  _ Everything about him seemed blank at that very moment. He no longer seemed like a monster dressing up as a clown; a child-eating clown that happened to be a monster. He seemed to make you feel so much smaller than you were, insignificant. It was as in the atmosphere had changed and you were no longer talking to a monster, but something else. Something...

Something ancient.

Curious, afraid, and intrigued (all in one) you didn’t speak, allowing him to continue. “You...” he drawls out, “...you sniveling little child. The whole  _ world  _ could feel you; your birth. The  _ commala dan-tete,”  _ he pauses to take in your reaction with disinterest, his hands still remaining on you. The clown had a strange fixation with your eyes; was it because of their color? Your powers?

_ Something else...? _

Everything he was talking about didn’t make sense...

“The King is dead,” he hisses out, his tone cheerful. “...and yet the world still moves on.”

“What - ?” you choke out, confused. “I-I-I...I don’t...I don’t know - ”

“Ohhhh,” he giggles, shaking his head.

And once more, this creature in your room was a jovial clown.

Pennywise loosens the grip on your neck, but it doesn’t help when he lowers it to fist your shirt dragging you forward against his chest. While you stumble and gag  _ (Finally! Fresh fucking air!)  _ he tucks his hands under your arms, scooping you up like a puppy. In the corner of your eyes, you silently despair when you look at your bed - which is in shambles; harsh claw marks embedding themselves into the wood and sheets.

Guess you’ll have to go shopping again.

“You want to know though, dont’cha?” he pouts, looking at you with faux sympathy. “You want to know so badly?”

You do, because you have no fucking clue what he’s rambling on about, but you’re too afraid to question him. Instead, you cast your gaze away from him, wincing. “Go away,” you mutter. “...please.”

“Go away? Go away...?” Pennywise tilts his head, eyes turning from burning orange into soft blues. An ugly sob, which sounded eerily like your own, escapes his lips while his features twist into one of despair. “You want your  _ friend  _ to go away?” he continues, as if he was scolding you. Crocodile tears spill from his eyes like the drool that falls from his lips.

You nod shakily.

And then, he’s not crying anymore.

“Well, I - !  _ Golllllly!  _ I guess I’ll make a new friend instead!”

Pennywise spins around, doing a little flourish that causes the bells on his suit to jingle and ring. Your head spins as he drops you again the bed, clapping off invisible dust from his pristine gloves. He looks so different when you feel like you’re about to pass out; so different from last night. You could practically see your blood on his suit still, the way he lifts his head after taking a hearty bite on your calf - deep enough to leave a mark, but not harsh enough to rip the flesh off.

You didn’t think that he’d take so much blood, but if it was enough to keep him at bay for a day or two; you were fine. But now, Pennywise seemed to be thoroughly convinced by your words, clenching his hands into fists to place them on his hips, pouting. “I heard little Georgie lost a friend,”  _ I wonder why,  _ “ - maybe I’ll go on and be his friend - ”

“No - !” you blurt out, gathering all your strength to sit upright. “Please, no! I-I-I’m sorry! You can stay - I just!”

You choke on your words, your voice still hoarse after having Pennywise hold your neck so tightly. You double over, wheezing while your hands grasp at your neck. The skin felt sensitive and tender, and you were dreading to see a bruise form. As you’re choking for air, Pennywise lets out a cacophony of laughs and giggles, humored by your torment.

And that’s what sets you off.

You hated feeling like you couldn’t do anything, and it was always the worst whenever you  _ knew  _ that you could do something, but you didn’t. But now, even at your worst, that lingering fear for your family’s  _ (ka-mates’)  _ safety keeps you on your toes. A low, gritty sound escapes your mouth - rumbling in your chest cavity where it echoed along the walls of your room. Features twisted in pain, you recover and face Pennywise, glowering at him.

The clown’s expression changed, not out of fear, but more out of general surprise and curiosity. Again, he looks at your eyes (as if he can see something that you don’t), and stops in his ministrations. That feeling as if you were speaking to something ancient had returned, only, it was as if the tables were turned - and Pennywise was faced with something similar to himself.

However, that doesn’t last long.

Pennywise recovers faster than you, straightening up and letting out a  _ forced  _ chuckle, bending over to grasp your cheek again. Your whole face hurts from his assault - he had an iron grip that rivaled Robert’s.

“Well!” he huffs out. “Since you asked so nicely...”

He lets go of your cheek, raising a hand up to snap his fingers.

In an instant, the room goes back to normal.

Your bed is no longer broken; there’s no drool on your floor (or on you, for that matter)...But the pain still remains, and so does the clown. If it weren’t the fact that he had taunted, tormented, and threatened you moments before - you would’ve found his current position  _ funny.  _ He’s sitting in your swivel chair, his boots propped up on your desk with his arms crossed behind his head.

More confused than anything else right now, you furrow your eyebrows.

“...what are you doing?”

“What are  _ you  _ doing?”  _ Damn it, I hate it when he uses my voice. _

Wringing your hands together, you try to push yourself as far away from him as you could, your back meeting the headboard of your bed. You try to avoid his gaze, his eyes now blue - blue broken with harsh yellow - and trained on you. An uncomfortable silence fills the room, sans the sound of his bells jingling whenever he moves or shifts in your chair.

“Can’t you bother anyone else?”

“I would,” he giggles. “But...we’re friends, aren’t we? Friends. Stick. Together...?"

Your face scrunches up in confusion, before you give him a half-disturbed, half-stern look. It’s only been a few days and you’re still unsure how to feel about this entire situation. He, Pennywise, told you that he was going to be here for a while.  _ Only a year,  _ you remind yourself.  _ But it’s going to be one fucking long year indeed. _

A question bubbles up in your mind, and you voice it out out of curiosity.

“What do you do?” you pause, shrinking back at his piercing gaze. “I-I mean - Before. If I wasn’t here...” Realizing that your question sounded flat, you elaborate, “Were there others like me? Did...What did you do when you’re  _ not  _ eating?”

“No,” he answers. “There are no others like you.”

You can’t help but feel a bit prideful at that; an ego stroke from an eldritch creature. Bored with his current position, he removes his feet from your desk  _ (Thank God that his suit was clean.)  _ and you can only watch as he rose from his seat to plop in front of you: mimicking your cross-legged position. The bed doesn’t even dip, surprisingly, it’s as if his body is just a projection.

...It probably is.

“To answer your first question...I wait,” he says. “I wait until the hunger returns.”

Before you can ask him another question your door-bell rings, followed by the alarm chime on your phone. Not wanting to get up, afraid that Pennywise would do something if you turned away from him, you simply lift your right hand up - your phone flying over to you. The clown remains unaffected by your display of power, heck he even  _ mocked  _ them the second you conversed with him. However, he does turn his head slightly at your room door, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

Whoever was at the door, Pennywise didn’t seem to like them.

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you open the app and see that it’s - 

“Robert,” you say. “It’s Robert, he’s - ”

When you turn back to look at Pennywise, you find that he’s gone. Allowing your hand to fall to your side, you let out a distressed sigh and drop your phone, getting out of bed and grabbing a change of clothes. You switch your shorts for sweatpants, checking the “mark” he left on your calf. Give or take a few weeks, the mark would go away, but for now: you had to endure with it.

And countless others that would come, given the terms of your “bloodletting” deal.

You send a quick text to Robert saying that you’d be down soon, feeling a bit on edge that the clown wasn’t around. If anything, he was probably still here - he did say that he only waited for the “hunger” to return; meaning that he’d come back for you soon enough - and you felt unease dripping all over with each step downstairs.

“Hey!” you greet with a smile once you open the door.

“Hey, darling,” Robert greets back, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I missed you.”

“Psssht - !” you giggle. “It’s only been a day.”

“A day’s too long,” he whines, engulfing you in a hug.

If you weren’t scared shitless a few minutes ago, then maybe you would’ve smothered him in hugs and kisses. All you can do is hug him back tightly, afraid that he’d go away - because if there was anything you  _ didn’t  _ want, it was to be alone with the clown. It’s comforting to be in Robert’s presence, just the thought of him being around you is enough.

“So,” you start. “What brings you here?”

“What?” Robert jokes. “Can’t I see the love of my life?”

You flush, turning your head away from him. The discomfort fades away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling inside of you. Forgetting about the clown for a brief moment, a dopey smile makes its way on your features as you lean up on your tippy toes; and pull Robert in for another kiss.

A pleased hum rumbles in Robert’s chest, and he kisses back without another thought. He cups your face in his hands, tilting your head so that he can grant better access. The kisses you share are always slow and deep;  _ sensual.  _ You can feel the desperation in him (after two weeks of being stressed from something out of his control, you couldn’t blame him for feeling like this) -  _ taste  _ it even - when he delves into your mouth with his tongue.

You pull away, startled, gasping for air. Robert’s eyes widen in shock before he’s apologizing profusely, his face running scarlet with embarrassment. “I - Oh jeez, I’m so sorry,” he lets out a groan of despair, face-palming himself.

“I should’ve asked you - ”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, equally embarrassed. “It was just...unexpected.”

“Do you still want to...?” Robert pauses, his hands brushing hair out of your face. “Do you want to...”

Thankfully, you weren’t completely clueless to his question - that’s the case when your friends knew too much - and your face burns as red as Robert’s. Shyly, you turn your head away from him, your hands settled on his biceps.

“I-I mean,” you stammer. “Do you...?”

“Yes,” he blurts out. “I want you.”

He didn’t say he wanted to do  _ that,  _ he said he wanted  _ you. _

And that’s how you found yourself lacing your hand with his, walking him to your room. You hide your face in your hair to avoid further embarrassment, too many thoughts racing through your mind at that moment.  _ How do I do this? Will Robert like this; will he like me? Where’s that fucking clown? - Scratch that, don’t think about the clown. How would this feel? What if he doesn’t like my body? What about the scar? What about the bite mark -  _

A thickening silence fills the space between you two once you close the door to your room. You turn around, letting go of his hand to look up at him expectantly. He rests a hand on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb, pursing his lips in sincerity and curiosity. “Are you sure  _ you  _ want this?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pressure - ”

You cut him off by taking his face in your hands, pulling him into another deep kiss. He lets out a pleased groan at this, at your new-found excitement, and kisses you back, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You hold back a shudder at the way he paws and gropes at you, he’s never been so eager to touch you; to ravage you. But you can’t blame him.

He’s waited long enough.

You can feel yourself grow redder in the face at the quiet gasps that fall from your lips - it’s as if he knows exactly where to touch you. You tilt your head up, closing your eyes in bliss while his lips leave a trail of kisses along your jawline; and then to your neck. He’s urging you to walk back, back until the back of your knees bump into your bed.

As soon as you fall back against the sheets, Robert’s fingers tug at the ends of your shirt. You pull it off of you, feeling a bit insecure when you open your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes roam just as hungrily as his hands; but promptly stops as soon as his gaze lands on your pseudo-scar/birthmark.

There’s that lingering sadness in his eyes when he trails a finger over the scar. You look up at him worriedly, afraid that he thought that the mark was ugly. “I was born with that,” you explain hastily. “It’s...”

“Does it hurt?” he whispers.

It almost sounds like he’s about to cry.

You shrug, trying to ignore a strange feeling inside of you. It’s a strange, buzzing tingle that starts in your head and toes, where it pools in your lower belly. You squirm, rubbing your thighs against each other, and shrug. “Sometimes,” you answer sheepishly. “It’s just a mark.”

Robert opens his mouth to say something but stops himself, closing his eyes and leaning down to kiss you again. He brushes his tongue along your bottom lip, and this time you grant him access - feeling that soft muscle explore your mouth. You help him pull off his shirt, feeling a warm, fluttering feeling when he grinds the front of his jeans against your sweatpants.

“Need you,” he lets out a wanton groan. “I need you now.”

“Then take me,” you murmur. “Do it.”

At that moment, you’ve never seen so much lust in a person’s eyes. Robert delves into your neck; biting, sucking, and kissing you in ways that leave you breathless and wanting more. It’s everything you’ve ever imagined doing with him, and  _ more.  _ You return the favor by kissing the nape of his neck, your fingers pressing into his back.

He takes one of your hands in his, guiding it down his chest and towards the front of his jeans. You can hear him suck in a moan when you experimentally grasp him through his pants. “Is this okay?” you ask, staring up at him with wide doe-eyes.

Robert nods, his face twisted in pleasure and need.

“Perfect, darling,” he drawls out huskily. “Please don’t stop.  _ Please.” _

And you don’t, continuing to palm him while he grinds against your hand, tilting his head up in pleasure. His fingers reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, his eyes still holding that hungry gaze. While you’re back into kissing each other - wet, sloppy actions that only heighten your desire - he gropes at your bare chest; brushing his thumbs over your perk nubs. After the need grows too much, you pull away from him, sitting upright to slide your sweatpants down.

A harsh blush runs across your face (if it wasn’t already covering your face), when you can feel slick coating your thighs. A brief worry and thought passes when you remember about the bite mark on your calf, looking up at Robert with fear in your eyes. Robert stops, staring back at you with confusion.

“Is something wrong?” he asks breathlessly.

“N-Nothing,”  _ So he can’t see the injuries it left on me,  _ “I-I’m just...shy.”

“Don’t be,” he replies, calming down. “You’re perfect...beautiful. And you’re  _ mine.” _

Robert swoops down to capture your lips again in a kiss, his hands moving from your chest, to your hips - where his thumbs press into you in a way that makes you gasp and shudder - and then finally, he cups his palm over the mound of your womb. His fingers are long enough to slip past your underwear. You let out a gasp, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, when he slid two fingers along your folds. Hot embarrassment flushes your cheeks at how wet you feel; the way his fingers glide along your entrance.

When his fingers are wet to the point where you can  _ hear  _ them, you tilt your hips, pulling down your underwear so that you’re completely bare. He shifts off of the bed, keeping a gentle hold on your hips so that he can kneel down in front of you. Your heart races in anticipation, breathing heavily when he hoists your legs over his back, dark brown eyes staring up at you as if you were the most amazing thing in the universe.

You stop him for a moment, remembering something that one of your friends told you, and grab a pillow, placing it under your behind. And then, Robert’s back into giving you all of the attention in the world. He starts off by peppering kisses on your inner thigh, delighting in the quiet noises you make for him. The feeling brings butterflies in your chest; that tingling desire becoming a growing feeling the more you’re feeling it. He continues to run his fingers along your folds, looking up at you expectantly.

You bite your lip again when he breaches your entrance with a finger; a shudder rolling up the curve of your spin. It feels a little strange to have someone else touch you (and even then, when you  _ did  _ touch yourself, you were too surprised at the feeling to ever finish), but the groan that passes through his lips prompts you to stop thinking and just  _ feel. _

Robert begins to move his finger in and out of you, settling a slow rhythm, mainly so that you can adjust to the feeling. You breathe heavily through your nose, weaving your fingers through his soft brown locks. You could feel him move his head closer to your core, and let out a moan when he latched his lips over your mound; his finger still working on you while his tongue swept over your bundle of nerves.

Your need was growing by the second, only increasing when he inserted another finger into you. While he stopped pumping his fingers (waiting for you to adjust), his mouth continued to suck and lick at you - greedily drinking whatever he could. Your quiet gasps turned into moans, and your hold on his hair became more intense. Robert slides his free arm over your waist, brushing his fingers along the slender dip of your hips.

How he knew exactly what to do, you didn’t question.

All you could focus on was that coiling pressure, the pleasure, that was beginning to make your heart race and your legs putty. You dug the heels of your feet into his shoulder-blades, trying to urge him closer to you. His fingers were already long enough to reach in a place that you couldn’t; curling and pressing into a spot that makes your hips buck, and stars burst in your eyes.

Your climax came faster than you expected, eyelids fluttering shut and a loud moan ripping from your throat. You clenched around Robert’s fingers, pleasure spreading outwards to the point where all sound was lost in your throat. You choked out a series of swears, riding on the pleasure until you couldn’t - tugging Robert’s hair to tell him to push back.

His fingers came out of you with a sinful sound, your slick smeared along your thigh when Robert rests his hand against it. You open your eyes, panting while you look at your lover dreamily. He meets eyes with you, love and happiness clear in them when he takes note of your expression; looking as if he was the proudest man alive.

He lowers his head again, earning a soft moan from you when he licks a long stripe against your core, drinking in what he could from you. He continues to do this until you’re writhing against him, pleasure blooming again at the feeling. But before it can reach that point, he pulls away from you, standing upright.

You relax, breath catching in your throat when he fumbles with his belt before sliding his pants and briefs off: revealing himself to you. You could feel the warmth from your cheeks and face. You could feel yourself flush with desire and bashfulness when he runs a hand over his length, making quick strokes - fisting his hand from the base, and over the tip. He climbs over you, pausing when recognition flashes over his eyes.

“Wait,” he stammers out. “Do you have protection?”

You nod, pointing to your arm. “Implant,” you explain in a soft voice. “It’s okay. You...Y-You can go ahead.”

Robert hums. “This might hurt a little,” he says, rubbing himself along your folds.

You nod absentmindedly, your head too far up in the clouds to care. You were still riding off of the high of your first climax, wanting more, and hold in breath when he pushes in. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, given that his fingers had worked on you enough, but he’s big enough to make you squirm and hold onto him for comfort.

He leaves kisses on your neck, telling you that it’s going to be okay; and you believe him. He buries himself inside until his hips are pressed against yours, nearly bottoming out completely. Robert looks like he’s going to melt into your arms, eyes closed shut and a hiss passing through clenched teeth. His hands are on your hips, his hold bruising but you don’t mind - it’s almost as if he’s torn between completely ravaging you, to being as gentle as he can be.

Thankfully, he chooses the latter.

When you tell him that he can move, he settles into a slow pace; testing the waters. When he pulls you in for a kiss, one of his hands snaking up to gently tilt your head up, you can taste yourself on him - meriting a groan from you. You hook one of your legs over his back, the action causing him to grind deeper into you. You can feel the heat of his body seep into yours, your movements languid while Robert begins to pick up his pace. 

You drop your head back against the bed, mouth agape in a silent cry when his hands begin to roam your body again: groping and feeling you until there’s nothing left to be touched. Robert’s groans turned into moans, equally full as need as your own. The sounds and feelings bring you closer and closer to the edge, your hips moving in tandem with his. You could hear the headboard of your bed slam into the wall ever so slightly, his thrusts growing faster and faster - his lips moving to suck at your neck.

There were sure to be bruises from the way his hand was gripping on your hip; the feeling of his other hand reaching down to rub at your bundle of nerves again. There was too much to focus on - the feeling of him sliding in and out of you; the way your tight walls clenched even tighter around him; the sounds you both made.

It was all too much for you.

For the second time, you fell into bliss: giving in to your soul-numbing climax. You could hear Robert moan again, his head falling into your shoulder as his thrusts grew slower and slower, and finally he stilled inside of you as his own climax came. A meek moan was ripped from you at the feeling of his release pouring inside of you. All the while this happens, there’s a break in Robert’s mind; a breach in whatever barrier that prevented you from reading him.

For the first time, you could see into Robert’s mind.

There’s not much you can focus on - you’re too high in your climax to care - but there are several things that catch your mind.  _ A dance between two people on Halloween night; the smell of peppermint and cedarwood; burnt cookies & failed breakfasts... _

And just as fast as you were able to read his mind, you were quickly pulled away from it. The gentle bump-and-grind of the tip of his length against your cervix pulls you away from your thoughts: pressing gentle kisses along Robert’s neck. He rode on his pleasure, moving his hands up to palm your breasts. When he slides out, you can feel his seed follow: thick and warm.

Robert lets out a few heavy breaths before he falls next to you, pulling you close to his chest. You hug him back, moving a little to pull the blanket over your bodies. He mutters something incoherent to you, but you’re already drifting into sleep: exhausted and happy. You roll over on your side, eyes briefly glancing at the open closet before bringing your attention back to Robert - who was sound asleep.

You follow him into sleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translation(s)**  
>  \- commala dan-tete: the coming of the little god. * This was used in reference to Mordred Deschain (the Crimson King's "son") but I'll be using this in reference for the Reader. In case if you're a new reader, MC is the pseudo-child of the Crimson King.
> 
> \- the world has moved on: the world has/things have changed (usually a negative change has happened).
> 
> \- ka-mate(s): a member of a ka-tet (people who are aligned together by destiny).
> 
> Pennywise will use a lot more Low & High Speech; so I'll leave translations down below for you guys. I'll use more Dark Tower language in the Castle Rock chapters as well.
> 
> Sorry (again) for the late chapter! I hope the content in this one was satisfying enough to make up for lost time! Things should be back to normal after Christmas, so I'm looking forward to the next updates!
> 
> Please leave comments if you have any! <3
> 
> Edit/Update [12/23]: I hope you're looking forward to the 24th/25th, even if you don't celebrate Christmas - because I have something special planned for that day!


	11. Derry II: Robert, Mr. Gray, or Bob Gray?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why don’t you call Robert by his name?”_

_I look into your mind,_  
 _but all I see is red, red, red, (red, red, red)_  
\- Cute Whore, “Cult Leader”

* * *

_October 25th_

Robert Gray hated his job.

He’s only been here for two weeks and he already wanted to quit his first job. He hated being crammed in a dusty old building, surrounded by nothing but books and piles of history. He hated spending a majority of the day there, going home late at night all alone. He hated seeing his darling less and less, who had also seemed to be more tired lately - paler; as if they didn’t have a lot of blood in them. He was concerned for them, but didn’t have much time to ask them about it.

Instead, he used what time he had with his _darling_ to ravage them - that had been something that both parties enjoyed a lot, and Robert found himself doing it quite often with them. They were irresistible, more so when they teased him with their charming smile and soft mannerisms. Everything about them was soft; kind.

Nothing like the Breaker of Beams.

Robert’s pulled back from his thoughts to remember his job, a frown etching on his face. It was a drag to pull a cart around and rearrange books, more so when kids (or teens; it was usually the teens that did it) decided to pull “fun” pranks and decided to toss a bunch of books off of three aisles of shelves. At that moment, he had never felt so enraged by something so simple - something that shouldn’t have affected him greatly but it did.

If he had his powers, then those teens would be nothing but a bloody mess. But alas, that’s not how things worked in Derry, and Robert lacked faith in the police to do anything. Again, the people were awful - and no doubt, things weren’t good with Butch Bowers still being the sheriff of Derry.

Robert runs a trembling hand through his hair, fisting a ball of his soft brown locks in mute anger. He released a force sigh, his jaw clenching the more he thought about all of the ways to get back at those teens. But what more could he do? The last thing he needed to do was end up in jail, and never see his _darling_ ever again.

Still, it didn’t hurt to think about what he _could_ do.

Today, Robert was all alone - the old woman who was his employer, Mrs. Baker, had gone home early - leaving him to do all of the work...again. He pulls back the sleeves of his shirt, brushing stray locks of hair out of his face, and quickly gets to work. As thin as Robert looked on the outside, he was still a bit strong after working out here and there; he liked taking care of himself, and he felt pride whenever his _darling_ complimented him on his body.

So, it wasn’t much of a hassle for him to carry and rearrange the books back into place, dust flying into his face every now and then (which merited sneezes from him). It was around eight at night - the library closed an hour ago - and the sun had been long gone by now, the halls illuminated by a stale white light. It did get a bit...eerie at the library around this time, but it didn’t bother Robert much. He was rational enough to know that nothing strange was going on; nothing could scare him.

He stops in his work for a moment to lounge on one of the dusty recliners, bringing out his phone to call his _darling._ He hadn’t seen them in _three_ days - which was enough for Robert to pull his hair out. The sound of his phone ringing throughout the library nagged at his mind until finally, they picked up.

_“Rob?”_

“Hey darling,” he greets, a smile reaching up on his face.

Just the _sound_ of their voice got him to smile.

At the same time, Robert couldn’t help but bite the inside of his cheek and furrow his eyebrows. It sounded as if his _darling_ was shuffling around - and sounded nervous, even. He waited for them to respond, hearing them muffle the speaker with their hand to whisper something incoherent to someone.

_Who were they talking to? What were they saying?_

“Is something okay?” Robert asks after a deafening silence.

 _“Y-Yeah, sorry,”_ a pause, _“There’s a...stray outside, and it - he won’t stop begging for food...What’s up?”_

Robert rolls his shoulders, putting his phone on speaker. He wanted to get home as soon as possible, so he decided to work while talking. At least he was on the last aisle now, but this one happened to have the most books toppled over. “I might come home a bit late,” he explains to them. “Some kids decided to pull a prank on me.”

_“Oooh, what’d they do?”_

“Oh the usual,” Robert says playfully (albeit his anger was bubbling again thinking about the teenagers). “They threw three aisles worth of books onto the library floor...I’ll have to pick them up and sort them out.”

 _“I’m sorry about that,”_ Robert could imagine them frowning at his distress. _“Did you want me to come over?”_

“No, no,” Robert subconsciously shakes his head. “It’s fine, I got it.”

 _“Alright,”_ another pause; followed by the sound of someone throwing something and another hush of frantic whispers. Robert listened closely for anything else in the background intently. _What the hell was going on over there?_

“Darling,” Robert says. “...are you okay?”

 _“Am I - ?”_ they stammer. _“Am I okay? Y-Yeah, I’m okay...why wouldn’t I - ”_ they pause again, _“Sorry, this fucking...cat is annoying.”_

He hums in agreement; knowing the pain of animals. He wasn’t fond of them, to be honest, especially dogs. So it was understandable that his _darling_ was a bit irked by an animal pestering them - and didn’t question them any further.

“Alright,” he replies, sighing. “Take care, darling.”

 _“You too Robert.”_

After sharing a few more words with them, they hung up, and Robert’s half-way done with organizing the books. The “love” word was on the tip of his tongue, and he wanted so badly - to say it to them. But he had to wait, even if he wanted to tell them over and over until the end of time; he had to be patient. He didn’t want to pressure them any further, he didn’t want to rush things too much. Things had been amazing ever since he and them had finally consummated their relationship, and Robert didn’t want to ruin that.

After setting the final book back into place, Robert put away the cart and grabbed his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder; fiddling with his phone as he did this. Driving home doesn’t take long, and Robert’s met with the sight of Halloween decorations - spiders & cobwebs, which was to be expected of his _darling_ \- on their front lawn.

It’s not a hassle for him to unlock their door, seeing as though they both exchanged a copy of their house keys last week, and Robert’s met with the smell of cinnamon, pumpkin, and butterscotch; making Roberts stomach growl. He hasn’t had dinner yet, and he had a feeling that he won’t have it again for the second time this week.

Man, that job was really getting to him.

Kicking off his shoes and leaving his things at the front door, he peers for life in the kitchen - before making his way to the living room. There, he finds his _darling_ sitting down on the couch, holding a steaming _(boiling)_ cup of whatever they were drinking; watching something on their laptop. Knowing them, they were probably drinking either coffee with a _ton_ of cream, or milk with honey.

As if sensing Robert - they probably could, with their powers - they turn to him, eyes lighting up. Robert can’t help but notice the way their eyes were sagging, and how pale their face seemed lately. Tired crimson met curious brown, and more than a million thoughts raced through Robert’s mind at that moment.

They looked more like a ghost than a person, to be honest. And Robert felt bad that he couldn’t help them with whatever problem they were having. _Were they having more visions?_

“Hey sweetheart,” his _darling_ greets.

Robert replies with a smile, and leans down to their height. He curls a hand under their jaw, gently tilting their head up to kiss them. He bit back an exhilarated groan, tasting sugar on their lips: honey - just as he suspected - mixed with strawberry from their chapstick.

 _Stars,_ if he didn’t need to breathe, then he wouldn’t have stopped kissing them.

“Up late?” he asks, pulling away.

They shrug, a smile tugging at their lips. “I guess,” they continue, “...I missed you.”

Robert’s heart flutters in his chest, a hopeful smile breaking out on his face. He murmurs something to them before enrapturing them into another kiss, letting his hand wander to the nape of their neck reassuringly. He hears them set down their cup before clasping their hands on his cheeks - causing Robert to shiver at how cold their hands were.

He hoists them in his arms, and carries them upstairs to their bedroom.

* * *

Robert wakes up, his heart hammering in his chest and his eyes brimming with tears.

Beside him, is his _darling,_ who sleeps without a care in the world.

His arm is wrapped around their middle, his hand just resting upon the swell of their left breast, their legs tangled with his. Realizing that he had only been dreaming - though, from the looks of it, he had more of a nightmare - he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, falling back against the bed to cuddle with his _darling_ once more. He hears them let out a soft sigh, their hands clasping around one of his arms.

Finally, he had them. He had them, and they were his as much as he was theirs.

His eyelids flutter shut when his hand, the one around his _darling’s_ middle, shifts slightly; lowering until his hand was on the curve of their waist - groping the flesh with his large hand. He had waited over twenty-seven years for this moment (and he was so close before had it not been for Victor Criss interrupting him in the previous world), and now, he finally won.

All was good; his _darling_ said that the missing kid was found; Georgie was alive; nothing strange had happened in the house on 29 Neibolt Street...what more could Robert Gray ask for?

 _If I had my powers back,_ he grumbles internally. _Things would be easier._

He was torn between accepting his human life, and wanting to go back to the previous one - not back to the previous world, per say, but to be the Eater of Worlds again. There was a dreadful uncertainty that had filled the back of Robert’s mind now and then, a nihilistic fear that drove him mad in the middle of the night. What would happen now? How long would he live until he was taken back to the weeds? Would his _darling_ out-live him? 

_No,_ he reprimands. _Stop thinking like that. The Turtle promised that we’d be happy together; forever._

He bites down his intrusive thoughts to focus on the present - focus on his _darling._ They looked so beautiful like this: a hint of a smile on their lips, face still slightly flush with a tint of pink, their hair framing their face. He could feel their chest heave up and down in slow breaths, their heart beating quickly in a way that would alarm others, but not Robert. He knew already, how they were like this, how they were saddled with horrific atrocities.

But to know why the Other or The Turtle granted them such a fate: was beyond Robert. _Maybe that’s the way things are,_ he muses. _Even if my body is mortal, I’m still...I’m still the Eater of Worlds...so would that forever make them a child of the Crimson King?_

He mulls over the question, running his fingers through his _darling’s_ hair. A smirk tugs at his lips when they let out another sigh when his fingers dig into their scalp gently, scratching their head while tugging at their hair.

He enjoyed the way he could feel, without thinking _(believing)_ that these feelings were something to be ignored; he enjoyed _feeling_ in general. At first, as a child (or even being _born_ with acute awareness), he _despised_ the fact that he was born in a human body - born to a woman who was never real up until that very moment.

He wanted nothing more than to cry his lungs out, feeling helpless in such a tiny vessel for an aching fourteen years, until he was shipped off to Harvard University for another aching decade of his life. He wanted nothing more than to harm everyone who mocked him for acting strangely - for acting as if he was just some random man. Him? _The Eater of Worlds?_

...those people weren’t wrong, though.

After-all, Robert was just a man - weak in the body; strong in the mind.

He had spent so many hours and days finding everything he could on his darling, and if he wasn’t so caught up in his studies (which was his parents’ fault, mostly): he probably would’ve met them sooner. They’d be around ten maybe, and he fourteen - and in the back of his mind, Robert could faintly remember receiving a letter from his “father” about a murder that happened in Derry. Two adults, while their sole child was left alive, taken out of Derry by their uncle.

If he wasn’t stuck in Massachusetts, then he would’ve done everything in his power to get _them_ back to him. He would’ve taken a flight back to Derry himself just to even get a hint at where they went. He had done a bit of research after receiving that letter from his father, surely his _darling_ had to pop up somewhere.

Maryland was a bust, and so was New Hampshire. It was not until a couple of years from the present, did they finally pop up. Social media; they graduated from high school in 2011; graduated from their university in 2015; moved to Derry a couple of weeks after.

At the time, Robert was caught up in his own troubles after he was done with his education at the same time two years ago. He had troubles in Castle Rock; with the warden, and the previous sheriff to be exact. To say that the warden had followed him was an understatement. As soon as he met eyes with the elder, it was as if the warden was always on his “tail” - staring at him as if he was the devil himself.

If anything, he was _worse_ than the devil.

True, he did meet some pleasant people there, but things in Castle Rock were too...odd. Not even Derry could compare to that dreary city. Like he told his _darling,_ the problem wasn’t the people - it was Castle Rock, itself. As opposed to Derry, which Robert knew better than his human life, he knew that the people would always be awful. He knew that his influence in the previous reality was _nothing_ compared to the impulsive thoughts that the people of Derry had.

But Castle Rock? It _made_ the people think bad things, things that they would’ve never dreamed of thinking about. There was a strange familiar pull that brought Robert to the desolate city - not a call, per say, but a knowing feeling that _something_ in Castle Rock was causing these things to happen. Something...or maybe, _someone._

Robert had left Castle Rock as soon as he could before he could investigate. He was here for his _darling,_ and he had everything set up to perfection when they would finally meet him. And now: he was in bed with them, nude, high off of the love-making that they had both done a couple of hours ago.

Yes, things were finally perfect.

* * *

It doesn’t pester you much after your first outburst against it.

Pennywise - you stopped calling it a _him_ a while ago - seemed to hold that ever-present caution around you. It reminded you of a predator meeting its equal, holding a similar fashion that told you that it definitely didn’t like being around you. But at the same time, you seemed “tasty” (as it said) enough to be tolerable.

It came every three days, biting from the same spot, drinking in the same amount of blood. _(Thankfully, it never came when you were watching Georgie, or his brother.)_ Every “session” left you breathless and tired, the sight of blood - _your_ blood - making you sick to your stomach. But Pennywise was true to its word, and didn’t pester any children (or Robert, for that matter).

Despite the fact that it seemed friendly at first, it made a clear point to you that it didn’t like your presence at all - nor Robert’s, for some reason - and you were fine with that. It often made crude comments about you and Robert; something that disgusted you. _Why_ it even bothered to mention that made you sick - how often did It watch you? From what Pennywise had told you, there wasn’t much for it to do, so naturally: you were its only “friend”.

It wasn’t until the twenty-third, did you realize something about Pennywise - why it seemed so familiar to you. Robert had shown you a photograph of his great-grandfather not too long ago; a photograph of the man before starting up his beer company with his son. He had shown you a photo of said man and his son, standing in front of a circus caravan.

And that man bore an eerie resemblance to Pennywise.

When the question arose one night, the eldritch clown gave you a blunt answer - that it had murdered Robert’s ancestor, and stole his clown persona. That _did_ explain Pennywise’s Victorian-esque outfit, but it didn’t help to know that it was a very real threat to Robert. Oddly enough, it never called Robert “Robert” when the topic of him came up.

_Mr. Gray...Bob Gray...Bobby..._

But Pennywise _never_ called him Robert.

* * *

It was Halloween, and Robert was stuck on candy duty.

Since his home was still dubbed as Derry’s “murder house”, his _darling_ opted to celebrate the holiday there. Even though he was still getting used to celebrating holidays, he did have to admit that his sweet tooth swayed him to sit on his front porch: holding a large bowl of candy. That plus the fact that teenagers were likely to egg or toilet paper his house - or if they were stupid enough, break-into it - made the decision all more reasonable.

He didn’t wear a costume though, too irritated by make-up and the fabric of the clothes to bother, and simply shoved fake, plastic vampire teeth in his mouth. His _darling_ was the more enthusiastic out of the two, wearing a long sleeved black shirt with leggings - and simply wore a cob-web covered witch hat and cloak to finish the look. They humored Robert by saying that it was fitting, since they could do “magic” (and it wasn’t until now, did Robert have to close his mouth - remembering that his _darling_ still hadn’t told him the full extent of their powers).

They were inside the house, baking cookies and saltine crackers - that were glazed in caramel and chocolate. Robert was a bit sad that they left him on candy duty, but he really didn’t have anything better to do; the library was closed today. Kids came and went, the mantra of “Trick or treat!” ingraining itself into Robert’s mind.

He forced a smile on his face, baring his fake fangs whenever a child would come up to him. His heart raced and his palms grew sweaty underneath the plastic, candy-filled bowl. Robert could easily recognize the names of every child that came up to him, asking for candy - and he could feel himself sick in the stomach.

After-all, he had devoured many of these children, himself.

Relief floods his senses when his _darling_ comes out of the house, holding out a plate of hot cookies. Their still-pale face was concerning, but oddly fitting for tonight. “Want one?” they ask, amused by Robert’s predicament.

“No thank you,” he shakes his head. “What are you doing now?”

“It’s getting late...I was thinking of having dinner out?”

“I’m down with that,” Robert nods. “I’m starving.”

“Same. So, what are you up for tonight? Burgers, again?”

“Nah, maybe - ...how does steak sound?”

“Whatever you want Robert,” they giggle, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Dinner’s on me.”

* * *

Despite his earlier suggestion, the Jade of the Orient was where Robert wanted to eat at. With a little persuasion here and there, you were able to get a private table for two, a booth that was hidden away from the large crowd. The rest of the night was spent laughing and bantering back and forth with Robert, and having an overall good time.

A cramp in your calf, still in pain after Pennywise came to feed this morning, was the only thing that dampened your mood. That, plus your extreme exhaustion - left you in a pretty tired state of mind. However, you didn’t let that get to you too much, and you were relieved that it didn’t pester you for more food for the remainder of the day.

Once all was said and done, you were satisfied to find yourself in a tangled mess with Robert in bed; cuddling. As much as you loved the more... _intimate_ parts of the relationship, you were a true sucker for cuddling and snuggling. His hands were on your waist while you rested on top of him, straddling him with your hands wrapped under his arms - clasping over his shoulders. In the background, Maturin’s tank continued to hum as always, a calming sound that was always welcome.

Robert had fallen fast asleep, snoring lightly while you waited for sleep to overcome you as well. His job at the library had really worn him out, especially when teenagers came and ransacked the place every now and then. He had only been there for three weeks and he looked like he wanted to quit. You couldn’t blame him.

Jobs in Derry were never fair; baby-sitting seemed to be the most profitable job - considering how much parents in Derry had a tendency to forget and neglect their children. Heck, you had only met Bill’s friends a couple of times, but it was clear that most of them lacked parental supervision. Even with how dangerous the world was (taking Pennywise out of the equation for a second), you figured that the parents in Derry would pay more attention to their kids.

Nope, that wasn’t the case.

In fact - front what you had witnessed - parents in Derry seemed to forget their kids often, rarely paying attention to them. It hurt your heart to know that so many kids were being neglected, but there wasn’t much you could do. You couldn’t save everyone.

...but it didn’t hurt to try.

* * *

_December 16th_

How exactly you managed to maintain a “steady” life in Derry, dealing with an eldritch entity (while also lying to your boyfriend about it at the same time), you had no idea. The longer the guilt piled up, from lying to Robert, the worse the pain grew - and the more Pennywise began to visit. You realized that your negative feelings only made it worse, its visits to be exact. It began to feed more often, and took more blood than you wanted.

Still, it endlessly rambled on and on - how much it disliked you enough for it to visibly scowl in your presence. You had to bite down a snarky remark at how eager it seemed when it feasted on you; you weren’t going to risk your life over a couple of words. Today, however, Pennywise didn’t leave after feeding.

Instead, you had a rather...strange conversation with it.

“Why don’t you call Robert by his name?”

“Ol’ Bobby?” Pennywise giggles, teeth stained red with your blood. “Why - He and I go _waaaay_ back!”

“His great-grandfather you mean,” you correct, frowning. “He’s not the same person as Robert.”

The clown visibly rolls its eyes - the whites showing before its irises pop back into place - and crosses its arms, blood-stained fingers thrumming against its arms. Whatever healing powers it had, you were thankful for them because at least, the only thing you had to worry about: was the pain in your calf. The wound was no longer open, but it still felt as if Pennywise had taken a hefty bite from your limb.

“No, no, no,” it rambles. “I _know_ Bob Gray when I see ‘im.”

You left the conversation at that, deciding to pull out your phone to watch a video. The slight uneasy atmosphere with Pennywise in the room had died down a few weeks ago, and it wasn’t majorly interested in your daily activities - leaving you to do whatever. It watched you like a hawk, no longer using the friendly guise of its blue eyes; settling on its amber-colored ones instead.

One of its eyes was astray, gazing off in another direction completely, while its other one remained on your form. Your lips pull into a thin frown, sitting cross-legged so that you could cradle your calf.

“Awwww, does it hurt, princess?”

You ignore it, releasing a deep sigh from your nostrils. You weren’t in the mood to satisfy its comments, trying to focus on keeping yourself as warm as possible. The snow outside was beautiful, and so was your home (having set up a Christmas tree with Robert downstairs on the 1st), but it was still absolutely freezing nonetheless.

 _Just a few more months,_ you think. _And it will leave me alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to save your comments for the next one, because god - it's going to mess with your emotions. I did a few major time-jumps in this chapter, because I didn't want to become too repetitive with the slice of life stuff + Pennywise's regular visits. Besides, like I said, the next chapter's going to be pretty important. If you noticed, I replaced most of my em dashes with regular dashes to make the story look less cluttered.
> 
> Also - I replaced [Y/N] with _darling_ mainly cause I don't really like typing out [Y/N] in a story. I think it's fitting to use Robert's nickname for them, because that's how he sees them.
> 
> Again, feel free to leave your comments on the next chapter instead of this one - if not; I always love any comments you leave on this chapter. Happy holidays, by the way!


	12. Derry II: Welcome, the Eater of Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...he hurt you._
> 
> Gen. warning for references of abuse/underage intoxication.

_ And he took me to the river _  
_ Where he slowly let me drown _  
\- Florence + the Machine, “Heavy In Your Arms”

* * *

_ December 18th _

A scarf was snug around your neck, warm puffs of air escaping from your lips.

You were borrowing one of Robert’s overcoats, the thick wool fabric warming up your lithe frame. Despite all of the snow, and an impending threat of a blizzard that was to come soon - Center and Main Street were as busy as they were during the summer. A smile tugs at your mouth, seeing all of the adults scrambling to buy gifts for loved ones: something you didn’t see too often in Derry.

The holidays were the only time when everyone finally got together, and it was strange for you - to not have your uncle Howard come over to visit after upholding that tradition for so long. You shove your hands in your pockets, eyes set on the Trinket & Pawnshop down next to the drugstore.

Even if Robert had insisted on you not having to buy something for him on Christmas, you were still determined enough to buy at least  _ something _ for him - you wanted to shower him with gifts as much as he did with you. You pause in front of the shop, a slight scowl forming on your face as your eyes found a blue Trans Am parked not too far away from you.

Those teenagers were at it again, harassing kids and ladies - as always.

You didn’t have much trouble with them after you “influenced” Henry Bowers to not bother you; but the other members, mainly the gangly kid with moppy black hair, always saved a glare for you. The blonde one, the one who seemed familiar to you, always stared at you - but he didn’t bother you, surprisingly.

Your gaze briefly meets the blonde’s (though, you could hardly call him that considering how pale his hair was), before you went on your way, entering the shop without another word. You didn’t want to get into any unnecessary trouble. Just because you could defend yourself didn’t mean that you could handle fighting a group of seven to eight teenage boys; many of them having a knack for beating up smaller kids.

The smell of dust, cement bricks, and wood fills your nose - prompting you to scrunch your nose up. An elder walks from the back of the shop, fixing his fur cap over his ears; his eyes light up at your appearance. “Welcome!” he greets. A quick check at his mind tells you that his name is Mr. Royce, and he’s owned this shop ever since his father passed it down to him.

You reply with a warm smile, bowing your head slightly. “Hi,” you continue. “I’m just browsing around.”

“Thank goodness,” Mr. Royce nods. “Folks come in here quite often; trying to cram in gifts before Christmas.”

“Can’t say I disagree,” you chuckle - browsing the books section.

Robert  _ loved _ reading, you realized, but he had already worked at a library, so you thought against buying a book for him. You brag a flower & cultivation novel for yourself, since you had become used to planting ever since you revived your garden - which was ironic, because your powers did the opposite of that.

You continue to browse for a few minutes, none of the objects really catching your eye. Behind you, the shop door opens again, following by a pristine clack of shoes that reminds you of Robert. Curious, you turn around and see an all too familiar face. His name is on your lips but you promptly close your mouth, seeing those vibrant blue eyes - instead of dark brown ones.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe angrily.

“I’m bored,” it replies, leering. “Decided to drop by and say hello to my friend!”

It’s weird, hearing Robert’s voice - seeing Robert say it - but you remind yourself that this isn’t Robert. Thankfully, the distinction of eye-colors helps you determine who is who, and you know for a fact that this is Pennywise...It...whatever it was. In fact, Pennywise masquerading as your lover only brings feelings of unease and discomfort, especially when you remembered kissing it outside of the parking lot. You kissed it back in October, thinking that it was Robert.

You kissed a murderer - an eldritch being.

“Didn’t think we were still friends,” you deadpan. “You don’t seem to like me much.”

It grins. “Oh, I  _ don’t _ like you.”

“Then why - ”

“ - but you sure are fun to mess with!” it interrupts, pinching your cheek.

You scowl, rubbing your cheek with your hand. The store clerk didn’t seem to mind your conversation with It, in fact, Mr. Royce looked as if he was completely unaware of your presence now - it probably had to do with its powers. You turn away from It, visibly bothered by the fact that it chose to parade to you in the form of Robert.

For once, you preferred the clown.

“So meaningless,” it mutters. “These...objects; they hold no meaning.”

“That’s what  _ you _ think,” you retort. “People appreciate gifts.”

“I do not care for what humans,” it seethes, glowering at you, “appreciate.”

“For someone who dislikes humans so much, you seem to enjoy hanging out with one.”

A low growl resonates from its throat, blue eyes flashing molten gold for a moment, and its hands ball into fists. “Do not try my patience  _ dan-tete,” _ it warns, staring down at you. “You may think you’re so,  _ so _ strong,” it takes a step forward - prompting you to take a step back. It delights in your hesitance, huffing. “...but I promise that if you try me again, I won’t hesitate to bring the worst torment to your precious friends and good ol’ Bobby.”

You stare it down, biting the inside of your cheek. The pain in your calf returns, muscles throbbing, and you have to lean on your other leg to ease the pain. It’s frightening to see Robert’s face in front of yours, but its malicious presence helps ground you back to reality.  _ That’s not Robert, _ you remind yourself.  _ It’s not him. _

You take another hesitant step back, muttering under your breath.

“What was that?” it chides lowly.

You don’t speak.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, louder. “Just - leave me alone.  _ Please.” _

“Leave you alone?” it parrots, tilting its head. “I told you,” it leans forward, grabbing your forearm in its hand - its hold nearly bruising from how tight it was. It leans close to your face, foreheads touching and its eyes staring not  _ at _ you, but into you. You want to cry right then and there from how much it hurts to see Robert’s face; its using his face against you, teasing you. It continues, its voice no longer sounding like Robert’s, but a mix of his and the clown’s voice.

“I’m not gonna leave you alone. No sir-ee, little thing,” it pauses to take in your reaction, its eyes full of mirth. Your heart pounds frantically, your mind growing worse when you can see it visibly salivate from your fear. Its forehead feels cold against yours; like a corpse. “...you and I are gonna be together for a  _ loooong _ time.”

And then - it vanishes from sight.

You drone through the store after that, unable to gather your thoughts, and when you return to your car (you discarded the book you were about to buy, unable to muster the courage to walk up to the cashier): you sit in the driver’s seat, and break down. Your face was buried in your hands, dry sobs leaving your mouth endlessly - unable to tear up at how  _ powerless _ you feel at this moment.

Your arm hurts from its grip, your calf  _ burns, _ and you feel like you can’t escape this hell-hole, no matter the fact that it will be gone once its done feeding. Your hands start to tremble, shaking against the steering wheel of your car as you continue to pour your heart out; thankful that you weren’t driving at this moment. You felt so small - so useless - against forces that you couldn’t control.

You feared leaving Derry because you thought that It was going to follow you as well. You feared waking up in Robert’s arms, only to see that he had been murdered. You feared waiting for Georgie to come to your house; only for him to go missing.

You were scared of It, and it  _ knew. _

When you finally recover, heaving in hiccuped breaths with red eyes, you turn on the ignition and drive around town. There was no way you could face Robert right now, not when It had disguised itself as him, and you didn’t want to stir his suspicions of you. Everything was covered in white; the stores; the trees, the park...

Everything except you - who was stained in red.

You wondered if it was in the car with you, and for a second you thought that it was: paranoid enough to constantly look in the rear-view mirror. You didn’t want to turn on the radio, half-expecting its voice to taunt you - something it had done a number of times. It was doing this for a reason, it wanted to build up your fear for the next time it would visit you.

You stop not too far away from the Kissing Bridge, gathering your thoughts again. You try to block out the sight of your leg covered in red, the clown at your feet feeding on your calf, but it keeps coming back again and again, and  _ again. _ Why did you agree to this? Why were you so bent on being the hero? Why were you so  _ damn _ caring for others?

Maybe it started when you lost your parents, feeling so hopeless that you were determined to save everyone - because if you couldn’t save your parents; then you could save everyone else. Maybe it started when you met Georgie, and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Maybe it was when you moved to Derry.

You step out of your car, running a languid hand over your face. You were beginning to feel light-headed again, and it wouldn’t be long until you passed out from exhaustion again. You briefly shuffle through your car, reaching for your bag were your right hand wrapped around a plastic container. You brought it out, feeling your anticipation grow worse upon reading the label. Iron pills.

It had gotten to the point where you needed to take them, losing so much blood from feeding It, and you - who couldn’t take pills to save your life - found yourself taking them every week. You hated the way it made your throat constrict, feeling the dryness of the pill go down your throat, but there was nothing you could do. If you didn’t take them, then you’d probably end up passing out; and there was no way you could deal explaining to Robert what happened to you.

You dug a hole for yourself, and there was no way for you to get out of it.

* * *

A day passes, and it’s easier for you to force a smile on your face.

You bake to pass the time, with Georgie close at your side. It brightens your day to see his smiling face, slightly glad that your deal allowed Georgie to live - allowed him to live like a normal kid. You, on the other hand, had to deal with the consequences. But what was it worth it? You help him stir the batter with trembling hands; It came last night, taking a bite from your right hand this time.

Since Georgie  _ could _ see the bite-mark - apparently only the children were able to - you wore a long-sleeved shirt to cover the welting red marks. “If you don’t stir it enough, you’ll end up with chunks,” you advice Georgie, smiling. “And we don’t want that, do we?”

“No, Miss King!” he replies, giggling. 

You were making gingerbread cookies, fitting with how close Christmas was - just shy around the corner on the following Monday. After placing the batter onto a tray, you allowed Georgie to mold them into whatever shape he wanted. He went with hearts, the traditional gingerbread man design, along with poorly-made (but perfect in your eyes) stars. You praised his work, ruffling his hair once you set the tray of cookies in the oven.

“Nice work, kid,” you giggle. “Sooner or later you’ll be better than me.”

“No one’s better than you!” Georgie pouts. “You’re like...the best  _ best _ baker ever!”

You don’t reply, merely smiling in response while you clean up the mess in the kitchen. Georgie wanders off into the living room, going back to watching the videos on his tablet - leaving you to your own devices in the kitchen. You untie your hair, allowing your long locks to fall back, and fix something up to eat. Georgie ate already, you always made sure that he was taken care of before you took care of yourself, and finally - you were able to do just that.

You open the fridge, hand reaching into it to grab a package of strawberries; only to startle and jump back in alarm when your hand touches something  _ wet _ and feathered. You bring your hand back, bile rushing up when you realize that the tips of your fingers are dipped in red - a strong metallic tang filling your nostrils. Your eyes dart from your fingers to the fridge, and it’s not until you see what’s in your fridge, do you feel like you’re going to faint.

A bird, completely eviscerated, with its entrails covering the expanse of your fridge. Maggots swarm on the inside, nearly spilling over the fridge from how many there were. The birds soulless eyes bore into your own, frightened russet ones, and in an instant - you fling a hand out, shutting the fridge with your powers.

“Miss King?”

Hearing Georgie’s voice from the living room, you startle, rising to your feet so that you can wash the blood off of your fingers. You hear Georgie walk into the kitchen, and your heart races even more. “I’m fine!” you reassure, giving him a weak smile. “I accidentally bumped into the table...hurt my side real bad.”

“Oh no! Do you need to go to the hospital?”

_ Christ, you’re too pure for this world. _

“No,” you giggle. “It’s alright. You can go ahead and get back to the living room,” you pause, pointing to the oven. “The cookies should be done in two hours, and then we can put the icing on them. Okay?”

“Okay!” he bounds out of the room - blissfully unaware of what had just happened.

You let out a heavy sigh, closing your eyes and hanging your head low.  _ That fucking bastard, _ you grit in your mind - thinking about It.  _ It’s probably laughing at me right now. _ You look over your shoulder out of paranoia, feeling somewhat relieved to not see it there. Still, it was probably watching you right now, but you felt better  _ not _ seeing it; rather than feeling its presence.

Your gaze averts to your fridge, your appetite practically nonexistent now. You walk up to the fridge, opening it slowly to find that there was no dead bird - no maggots - and no blood; prompting you to hold back a frustrated groan. Even when It wasn’t around, it still found ways to mess with your mind.

You make sure that Georgie’s happy in the living room, bundled up in blankets, before making your way to your room. Seeing as though Holland was being really compliant today, you carefully perch her on your shoulder - keeping her grounded to you with your powers - and gather a laundry basket in your arms.

There was something strange and surreal about performing chores after being tormented by an eldritch entity - but you were three months into being used to its presence, and life continued to go on. Maybe you should’ve been more paranoid, more afraid, but you’ve seen it all to take everything with a grain of salt.  _ Dead parents? Hellish nightmares? Evil entity? Shitty town? _ At this point you were becoming a bit desensitised to it all - even if you had a breakdown yesterday.

Breakdowns  _ did _ happen, and you were always left feeling drained and hopeless after them, but you pushed on: sometimes, you hated how optimistic and hopeful you were of yourself. Any other person probably would’ve ended it right then and there, or would’ve been selfish enough to not make the deal - allow It to kill children (you were still reeling from the fact that only one child had gone missing; and one was a number too high for you), and let themselves live.

But you weren’t like that.

Your friends had always joked how your selflessness would get yourself killed, it turns out that they were right. At least, if you did end up kicking the bucket in the end, you meant something to them - to Robert; to Georgie; to everyone you knew. You enter the laundry room, setting Holland down on the counter while you take your clothes out of the dryer, still deep in your thoughts. 

A deflated balloon squeaks and squeals between your clothes, heightening your annoyance. Your hands pull at the red rubber, reading the printed white text.

> PLAY WITH ME?

_ After what you just did earlier? _ you question, snorting.  _ That’s a fucking no from me, “friend”. _

You shove the balloon in your back pocket, planning to throw it away later. Holland watches you from the counter silently, almost as if she could sense your distress. “...’m fine girl,” you smile, bringing a hand out. She crawls on it without a second to spare, her legs slowly crawling onto the palm of your hand before resting on it - the underside of her abdomen searching for warmth from your hand.

You prop the laundry basket on your hip, making your way upstairs. Georgie, still in the living room, was quietly watching videos on his tablet - if you could hear correctly, he was watching a Minecraft video. You toss the basket on your bed once you enter your room, placing Holland back in her enclosure so that you could feed her. At first, when you first bought her, you thought that she’d be a hassle; but no, she was a really good companion to take care of in the end.

Robert was busy at work as always, because his job primarily tasked him in sorting out the library’s archives. Derry, surprisingly, had a long history with plenty of documents to go through. You couldn’t imagine being down there for most of the day, especially with how much it snowed outside. Being down there (isolated too) could drive someone mad, or as paranoid as you.

You sort through your clothes, irked that you hadn’t found some of your clothes (which were still missing). Your second favorite dress had gone missing not too long ago, maybe around November, and so did your old ballet clothes. You wondered if It had something to do with the disappearance of your clothes - that it was another one of its sick games. But your clothes going missing had started before It woke up, making your mind wander.

“You didn’t miss me, did you?” you call to Georgie, who looks back up at you - shaking his head. You bring out your phone, plopping down on the couch.

It wouldn’t be long until the cookies would be done, and you’d frost them. You made enough for the Denbroughs, yourself, and Robert, so you didn’t have to worry about wasting any food. Eyes trail over to the Christmas tree near the fire-place, a smile reaching up on your face when you noticed a few ornaments that Robert hung himself. The warm glow from the lights filled the living room in a soft, yellow light - contrasting heavily to the harsh blink of white outside.

You wince in pain when you lean on your arm, forgetting that you were bitten there; you were used to Pennywise biting you on your calf. Forgetting that Georgie was there, he took note of the hiss of pain that escaped your mouth.

“Are you okay?”

You turn to him, nodding. “Peachy.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “Are you sure?”

You nod again, getting up from your seat. “I think the cookies are done,” you say, mainly to change the conversation. You rub your other hand against your arm to dull the pain. “C’mon, you want to frost the cookies with me?”

Georgie nods, his eyes lighting up at the request. Though, you can see a bit of curiosity and genuine concern in them - kids were smarter than they were put out to be; and you had to sway his excitement before he could grow suspicious of your antsy behavior. You wave your hand at him, heading towards the kitchen.

“Icing’s on the counter,” you explain, peering into the oven.

Inside, a batch of gingerbread cookies entices you - the smell filling the kitchen and making your hunger return. Though, the brief memory of the fridge sends you reeling. You were going to have a hard time eating chicken after this. Not needing to grab a mitt, you open the oven and grab the hot tray with your hand (the one that wasn’t bitten). It was so hot that you could see the heat waves roll, steaming air rushing into your face.

Georgie was waiting patiently, watching you with that ever-present curiosity.

Thankfully, his curiosity was now directed at your ability to grab the oven tray, and it was always a bonus that he never told his parents (or Bill) about it. Sharon would’ve probably freaked out to know that you were grabbing boiling metal with your bare hands - though, it did make you wonder if she would believe her child in the first place. Still, you didn’t want to be a bad influence on Georgie, and always reminded him that if he grabbed hot things: he’d get burned.

You set the tray down above the stove, placing a cooling rack beside it. One by one, you gently moved the gingerbread cookies from the tray, to the rack, nudging them off with a spatula. Behind you, sitting at the dining table, was Georgie - a few icing bottles littered in front of him. You had a few flavors to choose from: french vanilla, white chocolate, caramel toffee, and classic sugar icing. On special occasions you had tiramisu-flavored icing - but that was only for uncle Howard, who loved the coffee-flavored dessert.

“Alright kiddo,” you say once the cookies were done cooling.

You had two plates: one for you, and one for Georgie. You give him the plate of cookies that he made, and you could see the eagerness in his eyes to make his own designs on it. “Go ahead and put regular icing on it,” you order, pointing to the classic sugar icing bottle. “You can save a few if you want to use the flavored ones.”

“Okay!” Georgie replies, already working on one of them.

You put caramel toffee icing on your cookies, enjoying the rich spices from the gingerbread - mixed in with the sweetness of the toffee. Robert would probably like these too, given that his sweet-tooth was incredibly strong. You were mildly surprised that he didn’t have any cavities, he practically ate all of the left-over Halloween candy a few months ago; and he, despite being relatively healthy, loved soda and candy bars.

The guy really loved sweet things, didn’t he?

“So,” you say, “...do you have any plans for winter break?”

“Mhm!” Georgie nods. “Mommy and daddy are taking us to visit our grandma and grandpa.”

“Oooh, where at?”

“In Bangor! It’s only a few hours away!”

“How long are you staying there?”

“Probably the whole break...” he trails off. “I’ll miss you.”

Your gaze softens. “I’ll miss you too, Georgie.”

“Are you going with Mr. Gray anywhere?”

You were about to reply with something optimistic, but remembered about you deal with Pennywise. No doubt, it would be less than happy if you ever planned on leaving Derry before it went back to sleep. You shake your head, setting down your fifth cookie. “We’re probably going to stay here,” you reply. “Too cold for travel, y’know?”

“I wish I could stay for your birthday!”

“You can always face-time me,” you laugh. With everything going on, you nearly forgot that your birthday was around the corner - the 28th of December. “Like I said...I’m not going anywhere.”

You and Georgie share a few more words before you’re done with the cookies. You help him put on his fur beanie and coat, slinging a jacket around yourself as you help him walk back to his house. The blizzard hadn’t come yet, but you weren’t going to just let Georgie walk out on his own. Not with the looming threat of death upon the town.  _ (As much as you held It’s word in keeping the deal - it being unpredictable made it hard to determine whether or not if it was lying to you.) _

Your phone buzzes with a notification from a payment app, seeing that Sharon had sent you your second payment of the week, plus a high bonus -  _ Sharon Denbrough, you are a fucking saint.  _ \- before she and her family were going to leave to Bangor. It was a gift from her to you, a testament of how much she really did appreciate you taking care of her son. Even though you couldn’t relate to her much, seeing as though she was nearly twice your age and a mother  _ (and a Facebook mom at that!), _ there was an unspoken solidarity in relation to the hectic mess of your lives.

You head back into your house, taking off your coat and pulling back the sleeve of your shirt, a frown returning upon seeing the mark: clear as day. You roll back your sweatpants, seeing the scar of It’s bite on your calf still there. Remembering about the balloon in your back pocket, you bring it out and toss it on the living room table. You could clean that up later. Cleaning up the kitchen again, you send a quick text to Robert before dozing off - exhaustion finally greeting you. 

* * *

You were always a light sleeper - but ever since you began to lose more and more blood, that was starting to change. You woke up later, took naps during the day (something that often made you sick; which was why you rarely took naps in the first place), and slept earlier at night. Sounds had begun to become less effective in waking you up, and even  _ Pennywise _ had to do the most just to wake you up when it felt like bothering you.

But to feel someone roughly grab your arms, shake you, and yell in your face? That did more than just wake you up. In your already-paranoid state, your eyes opened as wide as they could be and a scream bubbled up your throat - unable to form a coherent thought when you were ripped from pleasant dreams.

Wide, fearful  _ (angry) _ brown eyes stared down at you, a voice yelling things in your face. Robert shook you profusely, trying to wake you up as best as he could, and when you did, you could only gape at him as he continued to ramble on and on. His voice cracked, whether it was from him panicking, or him yelling so loud - you had no idea.

However, you did know that you were absolutely  _ terrified _ at this moment. Your heart pounds faster than before, shock and fear present in your eyes. You were still terrified by the way Robert grabbed you (and you were so shocked by his mannerisms that you gave him a once over, making sure that this was really him and not It); and your arms throbbed in pain. The one with the bite mark hurt a lot, especially since Robert’s grip was tighter than you thought.

“W-W-What - ” you stammer out. “I-I...why a-are you - ”

“What the  _ fuck _ is this?!” Robert exclaims, tossing something on your lap.

Still tired, head pounding from the amount of yelling that he was doing, it takes you for a moment to realize what the object is. You squint, hands pulling at the red object - and then you realize three things.

  1. You forgot to throw away the balloon.
  2. Robert could _see_ the balloon.
  3. Robert’s _mad._



Scratch that. Robert was more than mad.

He was downright  _ seething. _

He had a rage that you never knew he had, and the way his expression changed between the multitude of emotions he was experiencing: rivaled even It’s unpredictable nature. You sink back into the chair, dropping the balloon. Your hands were feeling clammy, and they were trembling -  _ holy shit, _ you were shaking all over. You were scared, and terrified. At once, all of your fears finally came crashing down on you, and you were unable to form a coherent thought.

You mustered up all of the strength you had, getting up and brushing past Robert - not bothering to put on your shoes or coat - heading outside. It terrified you to hear Robert call out for you, his voice a mix of distress, fear, and anger: but you were confused and disoriented. You turn a corner, hopping over your own fence to hide from Robert. You clasped a hand over your mouth, clenching your eyes to bite back another scream and your tears.

Just moments ago you were having a splendid time with Georgie, texting to Robert how much you loved each other - and how Robert was behaving now? You had never seen him like this. You had never bickered before, and the longer you listened to Robert calling out for you, his feet crunching in the pale white snow: the more you were growing fearful of him. Was this was how he truly was? Was he always this angry? Why was he so afraid? Why was he yelling at you? How would he react once you told him everything?

Panicking, your breaths heaving out in shallow movements, you think of a place - Richard’s Alley - and find yourself falling through the ground without a second thought. You pass through the void, vision bleary with red from this extraneous use of your powers (you rarely teleported; and only did so when you were panicking or extremely anxious). Your feet meet contact with the cold concrete ground, back leaning against the door leading to the Derry Deli & Butcher Shop.

You clasp a hand over your mouth again, trying to calm your breathing. Your stomach was churning, and tears began to brim your eyes at the way it clenched and thrust against your lungs - against your rib-cage. You were going to throw up if you didn’t calm down, and the more you thought about your situation, the less logical everything was. You slide down to your knees, pulling them close to your chest as you cry off the pain.

It was so cold outside, and your fingers and toes were beginning to grow numb from how cold it was. Your teeth chattered and your heart was nearly ready to burst from your chest. No matter how hard you thought, you couldn’t get the sight of Robert’s angry face -

_ “Listen to me,” Robert’s voice rings in your mind. _

_ For some reason you feel smaller, younger even? - and the way Robert towers over you fills your heart with fear. You try to shuffle away, legs kicking out. He had a tight grip on your wrist, and your whole body hurt. It felt as if you were thrashed around. What happened to you? Robert leans forward, his gaze flickering between gold and brown. No - Wait, yes...that’s right. _

_ His eyes were brown speckled with molden gold. _

_ Robert continues, his voice lilting into a growl. “You do not get to talk back to me. You are not allowed to make the decisions around here. That’s my job. Do not forget who is in charge here.” _

_ You open your mouth to speak and it’s at that moment when Robert’s rage flickers into fury - _

Finally the bile rises up and out your throat. You lurch in your seat, turning your head; hearing a sickening splash of liquid and chunks of your breakfast splatter onto the concrete. Your throat itches and burns - confusion tugging further at your mind. What the hell was that? What did you see? Why did Robert look different? Why did  _ you _ look different?

Your body was trembling, shivering against the cold and your weakened state. It was dark out too, even if it was nearly five in the afternoon. You’re too afraid to go home, too ashamed to face Robert, and too frightened to even  _ text _ him. You left your phone at home, though, and the only thing you brought with you to Richard’s Alley - was your body. Your mind was in another place, trying to piece together whatever the hell it had just witnessed.

The smell of bile fills your mouth, fills the cold alleyway with how much you expelled, and nauseating smell of alcohol also fills your nostrils. You can’t hear anything right now - there’s a ringing in your ears that makes your head pound - but you can feel something:  _ someone. _ You turn your head and see a few people, no more like  _ teenagers. _

_ The Bowers Gang,  _ you realize.  _ They’re still out. _

And they happened to stumble upon you - who’s too terrified to even form a single coherent thought.

You watch as they bicker amongst themselves, obviously delighting in the fact that you’re all alone; and their car is not too far away. They’re all clad in coats and sweaters, faces puffy red and pink from the cold. The tall one, and the one with the mullet - Henry fucking Bowers - seem to look at you with a disgusting look in their eyes. They share a few words; most of the boys look hesitant or downright  _ disgusted _ by what Henry’s saying. The blonde one shakes his head and says something to Henry, nearly  _ pushing _ him.

_ “Leave them alone,” _ the blonde’s thoughts seem to project.  _ “We should call the cops. It’s fucking cold out here.” _

You begin to shuffle back - nearly passing out from hypothermia, exhaustion, and shock. It’s so dark outside, and the headlights from the Trans Am fills your vision: coats their forms until they’re dark silhouettes. Fear strikes harder, and it’s not until you see a glint in Henry’s hand  _ (a fucking switchblade), _ does a scream finally rip from your throat. You stagger on your feet, turning around, and begin to run into a sprint.

Several voices call to stop Henry, but clearly - the teen is fucked up and probably  _ pissed _ that you talked him down a few months ago. The empty street fills your mind even more, a million different scenarios forming in your mind. Was he going to kill you? Something worse? Why can’t anyone hear me scream?

A calloused hand tugs your hair back, causing you to fall flat on your back. Your lungs collapse, the lack of air causing you to cough and sputter. Henry’s the only one here -

_ He led you into the sewers. _

_ The scent of alcohol wafts from your lips, your mind dizzy and completely intoxicated. It was dark wherever you were, the smell of sewage rank in your nose. The only thing that illuminated the dark...tunnels, was the flashlight in Henry’s hand. You stagger on your feet, too drunk to even stand. _

You curl in on yourself, a pitiful whimper leaving your lips. Out of all of the things that you had been through, you didn’t expect to meet your fate at the hands of an angry teenager with a switchblade. If anything, you were expecting It to kill you, not...not die here. Maybe if you were in a better state of mind, you would’ve kicked and screamed more: fought back. But too many things had happened under the span of thirty minutes, and these visions? Memories? - They didn’t help either.

Henry roughly grabs you by the shoulder, turning you over so that you’re facing him. His hand is poised over his head, blade glinting under the faded yellow streetlight. He swings down and -

_ Pain fills your face. _

_...he hurt you. _

\- hot white pain fills your shoulder.

A choked out gasp makes its way out of your mouth, hands frozen in place as you stare at the blade wedged deep in your shoulder. You’re crying - hand clasping around the base of the switchblade  _ (Get it out of me, get it out of me, get it out getitoutgetitoutgetitout) _ \- and not realizing what you had done, you  _ yank _ the weapon out of you. There’s blood everywhere now, all over your hand: staining the perfect white snow.

Henry looks, more or less, delighted that he finally got back at you. You had only seen him once, talked to him once, and he held the biggest  _ fucking _ grudge in the world. He stands still, a change in him makes itself known. A descent of madness. You had no idea what this kid was like before, but you were sure that him  _ stabbing  _ you; surely did the trick into making him a psychopath.

You hold your wound, feeling the blood gush out, crawling backwards -

_ You crawled until you felt something hit your back. In your intoxication, you slowly turn your head, meeting the sight of strange boots. They were tipped with red pom-poms; trailing up dirty, layered pants that reached up, up - up: until you’re met with devilish orange eyes and a wicked red smile. There’s rage in its eyes, but it’s not directed at you. No. _

_ It’s directed at - _

“Henry!” several voices shout. “Henry what the fuck did you do?!”

“Help!” you scream. “H-He...Help me! I’m bleeding!”

Another chorus of voices follows your plead for help, and you feel like you’re going to die. You call out for help - call out for Robert, who you were still afraid of. You call for help on the nearly empty street. Whatever you did to piss Henry off so much  _ (Did he realize that you had mind-controlled him?), _ you wanted to take it back.

Your stomach tightens at the sight of your own blood again, and you’re dragging a trail of it the more you crawl away from Henry. He slowly leans down, crouching until he can grab the switchblade, and takes one step towards you. He doesn’t get far - because as soon as he does that, a noise rumbles throughout the empty street. It’s a noise the terrifies you, reminds you of the  _ thing _ that you had been feeding for the past three months.

A growl.

And just like your vision, you’re between a monster and Henry Bowers - only this time, the monster looks  _ more _ than furious. Teeth are bared and claws are out: Pennywise, wherever it came from while you were literally bleeding out, looks more like a vicious animal than a clown at this moment. Realizing what it was going to do, you curl again, still clutching at your wound - and close your eyes. Screams are muffled; bones crunch; blood splatters against the snow.

The growling never stops, and you feel sick to hear it laugh and  _ laugh _ at whatever it was doing at this moment. To hear Henry scream, and the other boys scream, makes your mind numb and dazed. Was this really happening? Was it really killing those boys? Why was it even trying to defend you? Why? Why?  _ Why? _

When it’s over, you can hear the remainder of the boys scream, running off. How a few of them managed to escape its wrath - you had no idea. Did the blonde one survive? The one who seemed concerned for you?

How many of them were dead?

You’re met with deafening silence, followed by light footsteps in the snow. You try to focus on your blood, which coats and pools into the snow - staining the streets of Derry in it forever. A clawed hand traces against the nape of your neck before latching onto your shoulder (the one that was stabbed), pulling you on your feet. You don’t dare crack an eye open, afraid to look at It in the eyes. It releases your shoulder, momentarily, before its claws grip into your forearms.

A hiss falls from your lips, and your eyes open from the shock and pain. The whole world was spinning, and the only thing that was keeping you grounded - was Pennywise. It’s eyes are as red as your blood, and the relieve of being saved fades away when you see the glower in its eyes: not focusing on you, but your open wound.

Confusion. Realization.  _ Panic. _

Before you can tell it  _ no, _ it pulls its head back - maw opening to reveal those serrated teeth - and clamps down  _ hard _ on your wound. You struggle and writhe against it, clawing at its back. Hundreds of teeth dig into your shoulder and back, embedding themselves as it feeds on you. Its tongue licks and savors your blood. For sure, the events of today have probably filled you with more fear than you’ve had in your entire life.

Lightheaded, you stop struggling against it, openly crying as you realize that you’re going to die. But there’s something strange, you notice, in the way it holds you - not letting you fall limp in its arms. If anything, it holds you almost  _ gently _ (or was that the shock and blood loss talking?) and presses its body close to yours. It’s no longer as cold as you remembered it being, it almost feels as hot as the sun - warming your chilled mind. It still feeds on you, but holds you like you’re fine china: its claws receding back into normal, gloved fingers.

Your vision starts to black out, your mind finally giving out from what it had seen. Your breaths grow slower, shallower, and it takes a few minutes for your eyelids to flutter close.

_ This is it,  _ you think.  _ I’m dying. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays. :)
> 
> All things aside from that chapter ending I just pulled out, I just wanted to thank you guys for being so patient and understanding of me. It makes me super happy to know that you enjoy this story, and your comments always make my day. You guys are truly a wonderful audience, and I appreciate that my work is something you look forward to seeing updates on. I know my writing isn't exactly the best, but I try to make it as good as it can be. I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing, so please take this chapter with a grain of salt. You're all amazing and I love you guys.
> 
> Anyways, hope you're having a lovely week - feel free to jot down your though below! <3


	13. Derry II: Eldritch Delights I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That was the worst type of torture._

_If you knew how much I love you_  
 _You would run away_  
\- VAST, “Pretty When You Cry”

* * *

There was _one_ thing in the universe that smelled better than fear. One thing. One _little_ thing that enticed It, the Eater of Worlds, long before it even reached Earth; long before it left its home “planet”. It was a smell that it had never sensed before in its long life. The smell had reached for miles and miles in the vastness of the Macroverse - never going away. Like a ripe fruit in the middle of the night, It craved for just a _single_ taste of that aroma.

When It arrived on Earth to feast in Derry, its own special little play-pen and hunting ground, it greedily slaughtered a multitude of people just to satisfy its hunger. And even then, the amount of corpses that piled up in its lair couldn’t compare to that one smell that was better than fear. That smell made It’s hunger endless, an addiction to something that It never made contact with. It knew very well of what the origin of that smell was - It felt the moment the Crimson King created _them._

Long before the Crimson King’s fall at the hands of the Gunslinger in the Can’-Ka No Rey; long before Mordred Deschain, the prodigal “son” of the King; there was the Breaker of Beams, the Crimson King’s _true_ heir. They were said to be able to finally topple the Tower’s twelve Beams - far stronger than the mortal Breakers that the Crimson King had initially enslaved.

It thought of them often, not because of the fact that them completing their mission (destroying the Dark Tower once and for all; diving the world into death and darkness; and finally bring an _end_ to It’s hunger), but because of their smell. It had felt pain before, but to _not_ have a taste of them...

That was the worst type of torture. 

And on December 28th, 1994, It’s prayers were answered. _(Despite It’s clear memory, it couldn’t help but imagine that the event had happened on the 15th of December, 1972.)_ With forces that It could comprehend - but not understand - the Breaker of Beams had chosen a vessel; even though the Crimson King was dead, his mission still lived on. But that was the least of It’s concerns, it could finally have a chance to taste that delicious taste it had been dreaming of for so long. They were so real, so _alive,_ that It could practically taste them from the Macroverse.

Now, there _had_ been the issue of them actually entering its stomping grounds - and It had wondered if they would ever move to its town at all. But, luck was on its side (as much as it was often given to It’s...enemies), and the Breaker of Beams had moved into Derry. They were a small little thing, barely five years old when they arrived. The smell of them? Their lights...? _Their fear...?_ \- whatever had wafted off of them, It was _dying_ to have a taste of them.

Truly, they were going to be a meal to be savored.

And so it continued to wait.

It waited for an agonizing seventeen more years. It watched them leave; watched them grow and live their _fun_ little “happy” life; and it watched them return back to Derry not too long ago. They were a year too early before It had woken up once more, and it swore that it was so close to wanting to devour them - that It had nearly _burst_ out of the Macroverse out of desperation. And when It did wake up, just in time to witness a father brutally murdering his own son, it had visited them once It was able to create a tangible for.

It enjoyed seasoning their taste with fear, even if they didn’t need to be, and it enjoyed their ever-present curiosity and caution around it. It was clear, however, that it needed to be cautious around them. As _delicious_ as they had smelled, they were still a threat to It. They were no less than a Todash monster - but a monster nonetheless - and it could feel their energy: ever-changing but violent and cruel. _“You are worse,”_ It remembered replying to them, so many nights ago.

It wasn’t a lie. It had prided itself in claiming that there was no one as hellish and terrifying as itself, but it needed to be smart about this - it couldn’t risk underestimating them. Not when they had enough force, as It had heard from followers of the Crimson King, to topple the Dark Tower alone. And so, it had settled on a simple deal; one where it could have the satisfaction of tasting them, while also keeping them alive. Yes, it did relish the thought of plunging the world into darkness - but its...routine, here in Derry, it did _enjoy_ it. It enjoyed hunting and feasting on fear, without the supervision of The Turtle.

It enjoyed being in control.

Which was why it felt so _satisfying_ to torment the Breaker of Beams, who now had their own name (un-ironically, their surname was “King”; further showing their origins) and a feisty personality. Delicate was the word that It preferred using to describe them. As much as they stared it down in the face, tried to push it away, It knew - deep inside - that they were just a frightened little girl. They were too caring, too _loving,_ of those who they held close. They enjoyed doing mundane human activities, It realized, and much of their thoughts (thankfully, they weren’t powerful enough, for now, to block their mind) were spent on thinking about their “sweetheart”.

Robert Gray.

A man who It would never hear the name of again.

It had given the man the luxury of starting a family, shortly after murdering him a year later, but it didn’t realize that things would come “full circle”, so to speak. The man, this Robert Gray, had the near characteristics of his predecessor - only, there were a few differences. Bob Gray had a receding hairline; ginger hair; blue eyes; age wrinkles buck-teeth; and was taller than Robert. The other, however, had brown hair, brown eyes, and was evidently younger.

If there was enough evidence, It would’ve considered the two to be two different entities - but there were too many things that Robert had for It to _not_ recognize him as Bob. Robert Gray loved sweets as much as Bob and had a faint interest in clowns. The only thing that truly made It believe that he was Bob, good ol’ Bobby Gray, was that it couldn’t read his mind. It must’ve been the work of The Turtle, it realized - to give Bob Gray a second chance at life.

Robert Gray even had a pet _turtle_ named after The Turtle’s alias: Maturin.

It disliked the fact that Robert had spent a majority of his time fawning over It’s primary meal - even if it couldn’t _read_ what he was thinking, It had spent a lot of time watching humans: to recognize the signs. It doesn’t pester the man much after that, not wanting to spend much time with that vermin.

It really _hated_ Robert Gray...and It hated not knowing what the man was thinking about. There wasn’t a point in trying to figure out the man when it couldn’t even see what he was thinking about. _(It realized that it wasn’t alone in the dark about this, because the Breaker couldn’t read Robert’s mind as well.)_ Robert Gray wouldn’t mean anything to It, as long as he didn’t stick his nose into places where it belonged. 

So, It spent most of its time getting to know his _darling._

* * *

You were used to pain.

You had felt it all throughout your life. From the deaths to your parents, to the mental strain of having those eldritch nightmares, to the strange tightening in your chest - as if you felt someone else’s pain...Pain was a word you were incredibly familiar with. Which is why, when you woke up in a dark, wet place, with pain all over your shoulder: the most you could do was grunt. You were too tired to get up, just barely remembering the events of yesterday.

You were stabbed by a boy, Henry Bowers? And It _saved_ your life.

...just moments before it would take a bite out of you.

Your head lolls back at the searing feeling in your shoulder. It feels as if a hundred knives were jammed into that one area; the spot where Henry had stabbed you, hurting you the most. You swallow a knot in your throat, nearly coughing into a fit from how dry your throat was. The smell of sewage was rank, but admittedly faint, and your body was nearly chilled to the core. You weakly bundle yourself into a tight ball, curling your knees to your chest and hiding your face in your shoulder.

You were shirtless, you realized. It was probably Pennywise’s doing - its teeth had probably shredded your shirt - and there was no blood sticking to your skin. It had probably lapped up whatever it could. Just how much were you bleeding exactly? Obviously, you were alive, _barely alive,_ but you were light-headed, dehydrated, and hungry. All of this wouldn’t have happened if...

If Robert didn’t come home.

You bite the inside of your cheek, clenching your eyes at the memory. For some reason, you were more set on being afraid of his anger - rather than the fact that he found out about It. He had recognized the balloon immediately (even if you didn’t fully describe the clown’s endeavors), making you wonder...Was that really Robert? He looked the same, he _sounded_ the same. He even had his beautiful brown eyes, wearing that black overcoat of his. It, Pennywise, usually disguised its own “Robert” with blue eyes.

But then again, It wasn’t too hard for it to look exactly like you at times.

Disgust and confusion fills your mind, like the migraine that was pushing on the side of your head. If that really was It...then you could only imagine how afraid Robert must be right now - coming home to see that you weren’t there. When he did come home, would he be able to see the balloon? Did anyone else hear you cry out? Did anyone see what happened on Center Street? What about Henry - ? How many boys did It _slaughter?_

To be honest, you preferred the possibility that It had pretended to be Robert - just to scare you. Because if that really was him, then you’d never be able to face him again. At least, if _It_ was the one who yelled at you, that meant that Robert was still safe; that he hadn’t found out about your deal (yet). It wasn’t hard to believe that It would pull a stunt like this. Your outbursts combined with your increasing lack of compliance towards it; it probably made the eldritch incredibly pissed off at you.

But there was still the question of _why_ It saved you from Henry. Sure, you were a meal to It - but your deal would mean nothing to it. As it had said before, there were plenty of kids that it could’ve taken at any time...So why did it let you live?

You roll over on your side, trying to nestle against the cold wooden floorboards of whatever you were in. You were too tired to bother taking in your surroundings, but from what you knew about Pennywise, and the smell around you: you were probably in the sewers. Your hands and feet were cold, your chest feeling the same from the lack of a shirt - or a bra. You think on your situation for a few more seconds before the exhaustion returns again.

* * *

You had woken up worse than before.

You had slept for a while - was it a few minutes? Hours? _Days?_ \- and the only reason why you did wake up, was from the pain in your stomach; and feeling as cold as a popsicle. Your teeth chattered, lips chapped, and you were surprised at your body’s willingness to function. With what little strength you had, you sit upright and slowly open your eyes. You were in an old wagon of sorts, a small caravan that had been withered with time. There wasn’t much to look at, except for the lone wool item on the floor. A blanket.

But it wasn’t just a blanket.

It was _your_ blanket; the one from your bed.

A bit of relief floods your systems, seeing a means to cover up and warm yourself. _(Though, the blanket was on the other side of the caravan, meaning that you had to crawl to get it.)_ It takes you a long time to shuffle towards and latch onto the blanket - your feet were numb, and your legs were nearly the same. You wrap yourself around it, shivering all the same, but feel a bit of comfort in enveloping yourself around it.

You found yourself dozing in and out of sleep. As warm as the blanket was - it did barely anything in bringing your body temperature back to itself. You were growing hungrier and thirstier by the second; winters in Derry were never pleasant, and the blizzard should’ve arrived soon. Sub-zero temperatures were common, which wasn’t very good on your end. Even if It, Pennywise, wasn’t around, it was still all the same in making you suffer.

Speaking of the clown, where was it right now? If it had spent so much time adamantly bothering you, why wasn’t it here when you were literally in the equivalent to its home? Was it avoiding you? Was it feasting on a child, since you were too tired and drained to feed it? How about Robert? Was It bothering him?

Fuck, you missed him _so_ much.

You spent a majority of your time staring at the wall, waiting for Pennywise to return. Every now and then, a rat wanders into the caravan, sniffing around. Morbidly, you think about how it would feel to _eat_ it - but bite back the thought at how disgusting the concept was. Yeah, you were hungry; so hungry that you were keening for food. It wasn’t as bad at the bite, or the stab wound, but it hurt to feel your stomach growl and gurgle. 

Another rat comes, you stare at it. It waddles over, tail swaying to and fro, before it plops down beside your hand; wanting to seek warmth from you. It’s not the best company in the world, but it’s certainly better than being alone - or with the clown.

It’s hard to tell dreams from reality at this point.

Whether or not if you were sleeping, you try to imagine being some-place else. You try to imagine escaping the sewers somehow, maybe if you were strong enough - you could’ve teleported again; but you were too exhausted to do so. You try to imagine running home, seeing Robert open the door with relief in his eyes. You try to imagine running into his arms and embracing him tightly, seeking warmth from him - you try to imagine _home._ But all you get in return, is the howling of wind outside, reminding you of your current situation.

You curl again, the blanket wrapped tight around your body, wishing for the comfort of your home. And maybe, that did happen - because a few seconds after you began to drift off again, you felt _something._ Something wrapped around your middle, and eerily dragged you until you were pressed flush against a solid mass. It was hot, but not so much as it would put you into shock (considering how cold you were; too much heat would’ve definitely hurt you more), and made your mind soft and fuzzy. Whatever holding you was like a teddy bear, like the large ones at the store that you always wanted to buy.

But like a teddy bear, the thing that was holding you was stiff (motionless) not daring to hold you in any intimate sort of way. The thing - arm - wrapped around your middle had lifted after a while; still there, but never actually touching you. You listened for the rats, who squeaked and squealed. The smell of sewage had remained for a while, ingraining itself into your mind until it was unbearable. You thought of the candles in your home, remembering the rich and home-ly scent of cinnamon, pumpkin, and lavender.

Only then, did the smells change.

Your body temperature was rising, little by little, by the thing that was holding you. Barely. You drifted back off to sleep again when the fatigue had returned. The next time you would wake up, you were wrapped up in more blankets than before. Did you just imagine something holding you - that you imagined the blankets being a person providing warmth to you? What about the smells? Was that all fake too? Where did these extra blankets come from?

...the answers would have to come later.

* * *

**SENDER:** KING  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:32 P.M.

> Hey hon, sorry for the news but i have to go away for a while

**SENDER:** GRAY  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:34 P.M.

> Wait, what  
> What do you mean go away???  
> Did something happen?

**SENDER:** KING  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:35 P.M.

> yeah, family emergency,,,  
> I won’t be able to stay for Christmas or new year’s :(

**SENDER:** GRAY  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:37 P.M.

> Did something happen to your uncle?  
> How long will you be away?

**SENDER:** KING  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:37 P.M.

> a few weeks.  
> Might be back january  
> I might not be on my phone a lot  
> really busy over here

**SENDER:** GRAY  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 11:42 P.M.

> Alright...Text me if you can. Maybe, can you visit the library before you go?  
> I’m going to miss you a lot. [ GRAY sent a _Pleading Face_ emoji. ]

**SENDER:** KING  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 12:01 A.M.

> Sorry, sweetheart. busy, i was in a rush,,,  
> I promise to send something from maryland!!

**SENDER:** GRAY  
 **RECEIVED:** DEC. 19TH, 12:12 A.M.

> It’s alright, darling. Take a lot of pictures for me!  
> I love you. [ GRAY sends 15 different heart emojis. ]

[ KING read at 12:12 a.m. ]

* * *

You found a bunch of raw meat lying in a torn mess of packaging paper.

It was chicken, having been an avid home-cooker you could recognize the smooth, pink meat anywhere - and you were _starving._ It was also fresh, not having been affected by the temperatures outside yet. You clambered over to the pile of meat, scrunching your face up in disgust. Was It really expecting you to eat raw meat? _(Though, you suppose that It wouldn’t be an expert at cooking, or cooking at all.)_

You held one of the slabs of meat in a trembling hand. It was cool, soft, and slimy, and was probably riddled with all sorts of bacteria. No doubt, if you ate it, you’d get some sort of food poisoning - or E. coli. But eating _something_ was better than nothing. You lift the meat up to your face, thankful that the faint smell of your home had still remained in the sewers; and take one bite from the meat. It’s gross and disgusting, and you hate the way that it slides down your throat. It’s like swallowing down thick mucus when you’re sick - and you admit that you felt more than sick when the meat reached your stomach.

But you were more starving than concerned about your overall health. _Maybe this is how It feels,_ you wonder absentmindedly. _The relief of eating anything, because you’re so starving..._

You finish eating the raw chicken in less than a few minutes, not wanting to draw on the torture a second longer. It didn’t bring water, but you couldn’t complain. At least you had _something_ in your system, even if that something was raw, and had an awful after-taste. You huddle back into your blankets, wiping your now-slimy hand against the floor, before falling asleep - hoping that you wouldn’t wake up with a massive stomach ache.

* * *

You ended up waking up to vomit the raw chicken.

It might’ve been hours, or maybe minutes after you had fallen asleep, but one thing’s for sure: your body wasn’t accepting the food you ate. It splattered against the floorboards, a mess of pink meat and stomach acids - thankfully, bile didn’t rise up this time. But you expected to be sick nonetheless for the next few days.

You wondered how long you were going to be here.

...and where was Pennywise?


	14. Derry II: Eldritch Delights II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This event must’ve been a coincidence._

_Ever since my baby went away_  
_It's been the blackest day, it's been the blackest day_  
\- Lana Del Rey, “The Blackest Day”

* * *

_December 20th_

Robert wakes up alone. His arm is wrapped around a pillow, replacing the (recently) empty spot in the bed. Letting out a groan, he sits upright and lets go of the pillow, running his hands through his hair. His eyes search the expanse of his room, trailing from the door, to Maturin’s tank, and then to the window. Outside, snow falls - frosting up the corners of the panes. Thinking about how cold it was outside, he wraps the blankets around his body tighter.

Temperature was something that had never bothered Robert before - having no need to feel it beforehand. But now? He had to rely on clothes, blankets, and heaters: all just to maintain his heat. He absolutely hated having to layer himself with several pieces of clothing. It was one of the reasons why summer was his favorite season out of them all. He shuffles out of bed, instinctively reaching for his phone. Once he opens it up, searching through his “MESSAGES” app, a frown pulls on his face.

They hadn’t texted him back yet.

His _darling_ had left him on ‘read’ after he had sent that last text. Maybe he was just overthinking it, but having a lack of texts made his heart tighten with dread and anticipation. _Maybe they’re still on the plane?_ he questions internally. _Yeah, that’s probably it - but, wouldn’t they be in Maryland right now? What happened anyway? They didn’t tell me..._

He tosses his phone away, frustrated and confused.

They had only been gone a couple of hours, an entire day for Robert (since he had been at work all day), and he was already starting to lose his mind without them. It was already tough having a night without them by his side - he always did enjoy coming home from work to snuggle with them in bed - and Robert was dreading the weeks to come without them. He could barely last a day without seeing their face; how was he going to bear weeks without them? More so, the library was going to be closed for the holidays - meaning that Robert was going to stay at home until New Year’s.

He lets his face fall in his hands, letting out a groan of despair.

Robert desperately wanted to call them (if they checked their phone, they would’ve had over ten missed calls from him), but by now he knew that he was defeated. If what was happening really was serious, then they would most likely silence their phone. Family was always important to them...

More important than him -

Robert lets out a heavy sigh, tossing his phone on the nightstand, and shuffles out of bed. He fixes a black sweater over his body, heading over to Maturin’s tank. Maturin, the pet (and not the cosmic entity), was a painted wood turtle - his shell reminded Robert of his “brother”, hence why he chose to purchase him. Maturin’s beady black eyes gazed up at Robert, and the man couldn’t help but wonder if The Turtle was looking at him through those eyes.

He avoids his eyes, opening a cabinet underneath the tank to grab a bottle of food pellets. Evidently, his pet could eat both plants and animals. Just to spite The Turtle for disapproving Robert’s own (previous) diet - if that _old fool_ really was watching him through his pet’s eyes - Robert would often feed Maturin live feeder fish. And, because he found it interesting to watch Maturin eat, Robert would buy a couple of feeder fish just to see his pet in his natural environment. As natural as it could get, at least.

After taking care of Maturin, Robert heads downstairs to the kitchen. It felt strange, to do this by himself. Sure, he had spent nearly his entire life (mostly) alone, but Robert had accustomed his life to his _darling’s_ presence; and the lack of such presence made his head spin. Thankfully, he still retained his prior knowledge of cooking, so making breakfast wasn’t a huge hassle. _(Robert often thought of wanting to taste fear again, instead of eating regular human food.)_

Robert sends another text to his _darling_ while eating.

He waits for a response.

He doesn’t get one.

* * *

  
Robert became, surprisingly, a busybody in this life. He found himself constantly tending to his human needs; constantly overseeing his finances and assets. Every couple of weeks, he would have to buy groceries - sometimes he bought more than what he wanted; that was probably a human thing. Much to his delight, the library was closed for the holidays (and for the ungodly amount of snow in town), so that was one thing that he could scratch off his routine for the time being.

So for him, it was a complete surprise (and horror) to see that something was blocking his route to the supermarket: a crime scene. It was a bloody mess all over Center Street - not too far away from the Paul Bunyan statue. Police cars and two local news outlets were there, followed by a hefty amount of bystanders. Three body bags were rested on the side. Robert stopped, his knuckles growing pale from clenching the steering wheel.

And amidst the hectic mess, he could recognize four familiar boys.

Gard Jagermeyer.

Reginald Huggins.

Moose Sadler.

Victor Criss.

For a brief moment, Robert forgets about the crime scene.

The teenager had maintained his look from before, everyone in Derry did - despite the changing trends in fashion in his time period - and Robert could only stave off his anger from seeing that mess of platinum hair. The boy was pale, everything about him was; to his shirt, his skin, and his hair (of course). The only thing that stood out of place was his cargo pants, and the green over-shirt. A brief honk from the car behind Robert prompts him to continue on his route, anger and confusion running through his head.

What happened there? Obviously, something had happened to the Bowers Gang - but Robert could only think of a handful of things. A bloody mess that big only could’ve been caused by a few things: Robert (in his previous life), and his _darling._ And Robert was well-aware by now that his _darling_ and the Bowers Gang never went well together - especially if Henry was involved in the mess. He pulls over near the park, focusing on the scene; trying to decipher what happened.

He pushed the thought of his _darling_ causing this, as powerful and dangerous (and violent) as they were - harming another was the last thing on their mind, unless they had broken past their limit. The amount of blood in the snow...it could only make Robert think about his previous suspicions. That another _him_ was in this world. But no, that couldn’t be possible, could it? It had been months since Robert thought about that possibility, and no children had gone missing in those three months.

This event must’ve been a coincidence.

Like all other things in this world.

Robert takes a few more minutes calming himself down, staring at Victor Criss for a second longer. He wanted nothing more to scream at that _boy_ until his throat scratched - but much to his chagrin: he couldn’t. Robert averts his gaze from the teenager, speeding off to the supermarket as fast as he could to leave the scene. After that, he buys his groceries, and heads back home - where he’s met with the sight of families out playing in the snow.

His stomach churns, recognizing every single child out there.

Troy Hannigan, 5, has a fear of dogs - specifically dalmations after getting bit by one. Ricky Breens, 12, has a fear of the dark and confined spaces, an incredibly easy target. Regina Foreman, 13, used to be apart of his _darling’s_ ballet group in the other world - has a fear of wasps. Polly Summers; Mace Thompson; Talia Thompson...

Robert nearly drops his groceries from entering his home so fast. He’s not sure whether to feel angry, guilty, or something else. But one thing’s for sure: he wishes that he could talk to his _darling_ for some comfort. He’s definitely on edge from the fact that they haven’t answered his calls or texts _(What if something really did happen to them? Were they involved in the event on Center Street?),_ but there’s not much he can do aside from angrily muttering to himself.

He leaves his bags in the kitchen, checking the time for a brief moment before starting on lunch. He leans his phone against a water bottle, turning on a video so boredom doesn’t eat at his mind - even though it already had been for the past day. His stress had been piling up ever since October, even if there was no threat to worry about, and cooking seemed to be a sound way to take it out. It beats punching a wall or yelling, at least.

The rich aroma from his meal makes his mouth water slightly, anger receding; nothing could taste better than fear (an exception being his _darling),_ but human food came close to it. He’s put his focus on cooking now - no longer wanting to press his mind any further with fear and worry. His _darling_ was more than capable of handling themself _(even if Robert believed that he should’ve protected them at all times)._

He sets up two skillets, and brings out a multitude of small bowls - his ingredients already on display. While the pans heating up, Robert minces a slab of porterhouse steak, seasoning the red meat with half a tablespoon of kosher salt. Once he’s satisfied with the results, he melts a stick of butter onto the pan and pours the meat afterwards. He turns his back from the stove to work on the sauce, mincing garlic and mixing the chopped vegetables with black pepper.

It’s moments like these where Robert can’t help but think about his life - how much he’s changed (whether if it was a good or bad change, he didn’t care) since he was born as a human. Sure, there was something _endearing_ about being human, but it didn’t mean that he wanted to be one forever. 

Once the meat has turned a lovely shade of reddish brown after searing, he pours the garlic sauce in. Waiting for the meat to absorb the garlic and butter, Robert turns to the kitchen island to mince parsley. An episode of Game of Thrones drones by on his phone; someone is brutally killed in the show. Robert too desensitised to the gore, so he’s not shocked by it - but he’s always impressed with how dark and cruel the minds of people can be when making these shows and books.

Sometimes, he wondered if him being a destroyer (in the other world), had any influence on how humans behaved. He came before them, and maybe his inherently violent nature had sprouted this sort of violence in humans when they were made. Maybe it was true - and that might’ve been a reason why people in Derry were so awful: one way or another, it made sense that his stomping grounds had the most concentrated violence out of every other town.

He sets up two plates, instinctively saving a portion for his _darling,_ only to remind himself that they weren’t home. Instead, he saves it in a tupperware and leaves it in the fridge, eating his own plate of food in the dining room.

Alone, again.

* * *

There’s a lot of things that Robert is, and _good_ isn’t on the list.

Even as he’s entering his _darling’s_ home while they’re out of town, he pretty sure that what he’s doing isn’t good. _(Then again, why should he care if he’s done this a million other times?)_ Besides, he granted them complete access to his home as well - plus, if they were watching him on their security cameras; then they’d talk to him by now. Confusion fills his mind, seeing that all of the house lights are on - wouldn’t they be off? When he enters the living room, he’s met with an even more alarming sight.

A few of the pillows on the main couch are tossed onto the floorboards, and a nearly-full cup of a dark drink - probably coffee, judging by the smell - sits stagnant on the coffee table. Robert furrows his brows, giving the living room another once over. _They did say that they were in a hurry,_ he reminds himself, cleaning up the living room. _Poor thing was probably worried sick from whatever news they got...But what kind of emergency was it, exactly?_ There’s nothing that Robert can think about on the top of his head that happened in the other world, aside from...

That day -

_He had been watching those two for the longest time. Waiting. The Denbrough boy had seemed harmless enough, harmless but foolishly brave, and it was only a matter of time until that boy did something he shouldn’t have. His hand clenches, jaw tightening with serrated teeth hidden inside, seeing the boy snuggle closer to them. Billy-boy was getting closer. Too close._

_And before anyone knew it, an unwanted kiss was shared._

_And he, the Eater of Worlds, could not tolerate that._

Robert halts, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath. That wasn’t his fault. He had no choice but to do that - to teach them a lesson. They didn’t know any better; and if they did, they would’ve told Bill to not kiss them. They would’ve told Bill _(Robert)_ no. Robert’s hands ball into fists, calming down his breathing for a moment. After that, he continues to clean up the mess in the living room - washing the hardening cup of coffee, and washes what dishes were in the sink.

His eyes soften, seeing a wrapped tray of cookies: two of them clearly molded as a human figure. One for his _darling,_ and one for him. They must’ve made cookies with Georgie, that was the most logical reason, considering the fact that they had to watch him nearly two days ago.

He searches through the other rooms downstairs, not finding anything unusual. Now all that was left: were the rooms upstairs. He doesn’t waste any time, leaving all rooms unchecked until he’s looking through his _darling’s_ bedroom. Once more, confusion and suspicion fills his mind - seeing a lack of their blankets on their bed. All that’s left is a mattress. Even stranger, Holland is still in her tank (with an open lid), and knowing his _darling,_ they never left their pet unattended - even in the case of an emergency.

He sends another text to them, questioning their absence. Of course, they don’t reply again.

Robert’s suspicions rise even higher.

* * *

The next time you wake up, you’re feeling sick - but warm. Hunger still gnaws at your gut, as if someone had repeatedly punched you there, but a faint sweet smell prompts you to open your eyes and sit upright. The caravan is no longer frosting with snow, and there’s an old kerosene lamp that’s lit next to you. You cup your hands around the lamp, letting out a deep sigh of relief at the warm that floods through your fingertips, to your shoulders where it tingles along your spine.

When your eyes adjust to the barely lit room, you freeze - eyes settling on the figure that watches you. Out of what decency you had for yourself (though, you highly doubt that It cares about you being shirtless or not; it was probably the one who caused that, given how sharp its teeth were when it bit you), you wrap your blankets around your body tighter, setting the kerosene lamp down. Unsure of what to say to the clown, whose amber eyes dig into you, you avert your gaze, letting out a quiet sigh.

You hear shuffling as soon as you do that, and the smell grows stronger. You salivate from how _good_ it smells, and from how hungry you are. Your head spins, stomach growling and gurgling until you’re kneeling over from pain. A gloved hand, cold this time - you had a feeling that It was the one who held you yesterday - rests on your shoulder. It moves until it fists a hand in your hair, slowly urging your head to move until you’re facing him. In front of your face, are a few pieces of meat in its free hand: well-cooked and seasoned.

It’s not hard for you to figure out what it wants you to do.

Remembering the chicken, you scrunch your face up and reluctantly turn your head. You can hear It let out a low warning growl, pushing its hand closer to your face. With a trembling hand, you take one of the pieces and pop one in your mouth - subconsciously groaning at how good _(it was fucking amazing)_ it tasted, your hunger satiated the more you eat.

The questions of where it got the food were left unanswered as you greedily take the meat from its hands, cupping your own so that you can hold them. Whoever made this had decent cooking skills, but the amount of blood in it still - and how pink the meat was - automatically makes you think of one man.

Only Robert loves his meat seared, heavily rare; _blue rare_ sometimes.

Pennywise gives you space, crawling back to its own corner of the caravan before kicking its boot towards you - a juicy tupperware full of the rest of the meat, sliding at your own feet. Not wanting to test its patience, you take the plastic container and eat the rest of the meat in there. It had only been a couple of days, and you felt like you were dying from hunger. Dehydration, however, would probably get to you first if you didn’t eat.

The blanket slides off a little, but that’s the least of your worries. By now, It had a complete disregard for your physical appearance - more so, it even looked _disgusted_ upon seeing your bare chest - so there didn’t seem to be any harm in that. If anything, it seemed to be helping you now, and you weren’t going to take any second chances. When you’re done, you lick your fingers and let out a delighted sigh, momentarily forgetting about the clown in the room.

The lingering question of where It got this food from (you had a pretty good idea that It stole this food from Robert; judging by the simplicity and bloodiness of the dish) remains on your mind, but you don’t push it to talk. Instead, you pull the blankets over you and curl into a ball in the corner, regaining warmth from the old-fashioned lamp beside you. Across, It watches with a leering gaze, hunching over like a big cat ready to catch its prey.

The thought of that reminds you of the pain in your shoulder, and a brief glance below on your chest tells you the extent of your injuries. Maybe it was from Pennywise’s doing, or something else, but the wound seemed to be healing and all that was left were a bunch of pale-colored scars. There weren’t any scabs. _(You push back the idea of It eating them, having just eaten yourself, you don’t want your food to come back up.)_

Henry’s wound also seemed to be nonexistent, the only thing present were It’s wounds it had inflicted on you. You and It stay like that for a good hour, you counted the time out of boredom, before you finally muster up the courage to speak. Your voice is scratchy and hoarse, probably from screaming so much - or because you’re too cold, but either way: it gets your message.

“Why are you helping me?”

It’s eyes flicker over to you, as if considering its choices to ignore you, or to answer your question. Thankfully, it chooses the latter, tilting its head like an innocent child would. “I can’t have my food go to waste,” it says, “can I?”

 _No,_ you muse, half-agreeing. _I guess not._

You turn away, letting out a heavy sigh.

It was somewhat satisfying, calming even, to watch the air pour out from your mouth - white puffs of air that you used to replicate when you were a child in winter. Your back aches from sitting upright for so long, and the scratchy surface of the wooden walls (even with your wrapped in a bundle of blankets) only made it worse. Your heart ached for warmth and a bed. You wanted home. You wanted to be home.

You wanted Robert, most of all.

“When can I go home?”

“Home?” it drawls, tilting its head even more. Any further, and you were sure that its neck was going to snap - the pale white skin exposed from its collar. It slowly crawls upward, and you prepare your body for any sudden attacks or jumpscares. It always did love to scare you; that much was evident from what it had done a few days _(Just how long were you here, exactly?)_ ago. It struts forward until it bends down to your eye level, bones cracking from its unnatural posture.

“You want to go home?” it pouts, taking on a baby-ish tone. “Poor little thing wants to go home? Back to their _sweetheart?_ Back to their boooooring old life?”

It huffs, literally rolling it eyes until you can only see the whites and pulsating red veins. When its eyes snap back to normal, they’re baby blue instead of a sunset orange. “Maybe,” it hisses, an unreadable look in its eyes. “Maybe...I won’t let you leave,” a pit drops in your stomach - fear clear in your eyes. “Maybe I’ll just keep you all to myself...until you’re ready.”

Up until that last moment, dread began to form, but at those three last words: you couldn’t help but look at him in confusion. “Ready?” you question, voicing your thoughts. “Re...Ready for what?”

It answers your questions all the same: vanishing from sight.

Starting to understand the pattern in its schemes and games, you gnash your teeth together, tongue moving inside your mouth to gather the remaining flavor of the food It had given you. When you truly can’t feel its presence in the area, you slowly close your eyes and settle into a sleeping position.

Sleep never helped, but it was a good distraction.

* * *

You had a variety of visions when you fell asleep. Maybe it was because your brain was more active, now that you had actual food in your system, or maybe it was because your powers decided to kick in. But for whatever reason, they came to you wave after wave. These visions were blurry, however, and they seemed more like...memories? Thoughts? - From someone else’s eyes. You couldn’t move or interact; you simply watched.

It was all muddled and blurry, as if something was trying to stop you from seeing what you were seeing. But as always, you prevailed and managed to see several things. The blonde boy, Victor - you heard someone call in the vision - was in most of them; and so were a handful of other kids. You could even recognize a few. Bill and his friends, plus an addition of three more individuals: a dark-skinned boy, a chubby bright-eyed boy, and a determined girl with red hair.

Aside from Victor, who you felt you had the strongest connection with, you couldn’t help but feel a strong familiarity to the girl as well. As if you understood something about her that no one else couldn’t - and you had a feeling that if she felt the same way as well. Bill, in the visions, felt different to you too. He looked at you differently, strangely, like he idolized you. Admired you. And you, you were you; but at the same time, you weren’t. You felt livelier, but broken.

Broken how, you didn’t know.

You could see the group doing a bunch of things together, going to the movies (and you noted how old-timey the theater looked), playing in the woods, swimming in the Quarry...stuff you probably would’ve done if you had enough friends when you were younger. But in the more foggier visions, you could only feel the emotions they felt - sadness, pain, confusion, sorrow...relief. And in the visions without any of the kids, you dreamt of Robert as well.

But Robert was...different.

Like how you had seen in your panicked state when It paraded as him, pretending to be angry. _(You’d have to ask It later about what happened to confirm your suspicions._ Sometimes you could feel irritation from him, and sometimes you could feel complete love and adoration for you. But most of the time, aside from what he felt...you could feel what _you_ felt as well. The you in these visions - they felt trapped; dependent.

Dependent on _Robert._

But aside from the more negative aspects, there was also that love you felt from him. You could see you and him, dancing alone in a big house surrounded by trees. You could see a beautiful garden with sunflowers and your favorite flowers. You could see him slipping a ring over your finger, and you did the same with him. There was something _wrong_ about everything, though. You could feel shame in the visions - as if you and Robert were trying to keep something secret. From everyone. From your parents. From your friends.

From each other.

But still, seeing those rings made your heart flutter all the same.

* * *

There were no words; no further reasoning behind It’s actions now.

It was completely unpredictable.

One minute, you were sleeping in a cold caravan, the next minute - you found yourself back at home. It took you awhile to get accustomed to your surroundings, more so when you had to make sure that this was real (and not some sort of sick trick by Pennywise). You were too drained to cry, to scream at everything. You were just tired, and you knew better than to act out.

That was just the way things were.

It made you want to die inside on how compliant you were, but even in the face of absolute horror you were too nice for your own good. A pushover, some might’ve called you. But what could you do? Tell Robert; out of the question. Tell the police; they’d laugh at you (and probably consider you a suspect in what happened on Center Street). Speaking of Center Street, after you acclimated yourself to a warm home and a boiling drink - and an even hotter shower - you had checked your phone.

It was December 22nd. At least four days since you had disappeared.

Four days since It murdered Henry Bowers, Peter Gordon, and Patrick Hockstetter.

Four days since It pretended to be Robert.

Nearly six days since you last said “I love you,” to Robert.

It was pretty damn merciful for allowing you to go home, instead of keeping its threat on doing the opposite. It was probably tired of trying to keep you alive, you supposed. To it, you were probably like a child - given the circumstances, you had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long until it got bored with keeping you down there. It didn’t lie. It didn’t want you to go to “waste”, and the sewers weren’t a good place (especially in the winter) for you to recover from your attack.

As grim as it sounds, you were glad that It dealt with Henry; not so much for the other two, considering the fact that you didn’t know them so much. Letting a teenager like Henry around town was dangerous, and you even heard from Bill that Henry had bothered him and Georgie once. _See?_ a voice inside mutters. _This is not so bad after all. What if that was Georgie instead of you that Henry attacked?_

But there were other things to worry about now. You didn’t think that It would be a big enough of an asshole to keep you involved with happened on Center Street, so that was another thing far down on your list. Your main priority, was thinking of what you should explain to Robert. You had seen that It pretended to be you via phone, only on the night you disappeared though. It went by an idea that you had to leave on a family emergency.

With you coming home “early” (to your horror, you read the text saying that you wouldn’t be back until January; meaning that It had intended to keep you down there longer), you could just explain that it was a false alarm. That Howard, your uncle, was just a bit stressed from his job and the holidays and had a bit of a financial stump. Would Robert even believe that though? You had gone practically radio-silent for nearly five days.

To say that he was probably worried was an understatement.

* * *

It’s five in the morning when Robert gets a knock on his door.

He would’ve just ignored it and gone back to sleep, but he was nearly wide-awake - too worried and set on waiting for a response from his _darling_ to focus on other aspects of life. He throws the blanket covers off of him, heading towards the window to see who it is before he can head downstairs. And then, it takes him a minute to register the familiar face that looks back up at him expectantly and apologetically. It’s them. It’s _them._

Robert nearly falls down the stairs from running so fast.

He’s had so many questions, and a bit of anger too _(Why did they have to leave so suddenly? Without his permission?),_ but as soon as he opens that door he can’t find the strength in himself to demand an explanation. Instead, he wraps his arms around them and pulls them into the tightest hug they’ll probably ever get in their life. Them leaving for a family emergency was nowhere close to them killing him, and then dying shortly after - but it was pretty damn close to the other times when they truly left him for their friends.

He buries his face into their neck, head spinning from how much he missed them; everything about them. They way they hugged him back, melted into his arms, allowed him to pick them up. There was so much he wanted to say, but it embarrassingly comes out in incoherent babbling and sounds. The cold from outside doesn’t even bother him with how warm and flushed he feels by hugging him, and for just a brief moment - Robert feels at peace.

“I’m sorry,” they mutter to him quietly. “I know I should’ve said more but I - ”

“Don’t,” Robert interrupts.

He carries them inside until he seats them on his couch, still hugging their body all the same. He doesn’t want to let go, no matter what. He fears that if he does, he’ll never see them again. He’s seen this happen to them too many times to be relaxed about the situation. He leans back, pulling them into a needy kiss. Stars, it’s only been a couple of days - but it felt like forever. _(Truthfully, he wants them to tell him everything now, but he can’t find it in himself to be really mad at them.)_

“Don’t be sorry,” he says back. “You can tell me later.”

“I missed you,” they whisper. “I missed you so much, Robert.”

“Me too, darling. Just...don’t do that again, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

That’s all Robert needs to hear before he’s pulling them into another kiss. It’s been too long (in his opinion) since he’s seen them, and he’s desperately running his hands up and down their sides; trying to repiece his image of them in his mind. They kiss with a bit of reluctance before it melds into a fiercer passion. Their hands feel a little cold, and so does their face, but that doesn’t bother Robert in the slightest.

However, as soon as his fingers trail underneath their shirt they recoil out of surprise, looking at him sheepishly. “Sorry,” they whisper, face pink with embarrassment. “I - ” they pause, stumbling on their words. “...I’m not in the mood for that.

Worried, as if he wasn’t worried enough, Robert stops, removing his hands from them in a defensive stance to calm them down. Now that he’s got a better look at them, Robert can see the tired bags under their eyes; a type of gaunt look that reminded him of when he was hungry. They still had that pale tint to their skin, even amidst their blushing.

He wants to pry into their business _so_ badly, ask them everything that they did while they were gone, but he remembers from past encounters that doing that never did him any good. So, he nods and gets off of the couch, bending down to help them with their shoes and socks - taking note that their feet were equally as cold as the rest of their body. “You’re tired,” he states, standing up to pick them up. And then, he’s making his way up the stairs with them in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, darling.”

* * *

You realized that Robert was worried enough to believe anything that you had said.

Even as the guilt piled up and you felt worse by the minute, he believed every word you spouted out. You were careful with what you had said though, making sure that no detail was left untouched. Just to prove this lie, you asked him if anything had happened in Derry. He responded to that question by telling you that a few teenagers (he never explicitly stated the Bowers Gang, but you guessed he did that because he knew that you had a rocky start with them a few months ago) had been involved in a knife fight.

That’s what the news said.

You knew the truth, though.

But you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut; it was the best thing to do, for your and Robert’s safety. That’s how you found yourself tiredly running your hands through his hair, letting him caress your sides with his hands. He couldn’t see the hundreds of teeth marks on your shoulder and back - nor could he see the scar on your wrist or calf - and that was okay. As long as you kept your promise, Robert didn’t have to worry about his life being in danger.

You were mad at It, still, for causing this mess in the first place. 

_Just a few more months,_ you think. _You can wait that long._

“Your uncle’s a fool,” Robert says out of the blue.

You pout, looking at him at wide eyes. “Don’t say that, Robert!”

“What? It’s true!” he huffs. “Making you go all the way to Maryland, just for that...”

“Hey, he’s human. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Still,” Robert pauses, tilting your head up so that he can look into your eyes. “I was worried sick,” he murmurs, sighing. His thumb brushes alone your bottom lip, languidly moving down until he’s caressing your jawline. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you.”

“But nothing didn’t. I’m here. I’m safe,” you add on, “I’m yours.”

“I know,” he nods. “I understand...So, did you tell Howard about me yet?”

“No,” you reply honestly. “I haven’t. Maybe later, when he isn’t so stressed.” Thinking about your uncle reacting to you being in an official relationship makes you giggle - imagining his shocked face. “I think me having a boyfriend would break him for sure.”

“What?” He makes a _pssht_ sound, “You’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that Howard’s a bit of a...”

“Mother hen,” Robert finishes with a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

He mutters under his breath, but you can still catch what he says.

_“He knows how to pack a good fucking punch to the cheek too.”_

You side-eye him but don’t ask him what he meant, pretending that you didn’t hear him talk. He probably said that because you had shown a picture of Howard, while explaining your “disappearance” to Robert. Howard was well-built, a bit more on the athletic side than the stockier one.

From what you had seen for yourself, Howard did pack a good punch. You remembered seeing him punch a home intruder once, and he told you that he often had to defend himself (or your late father) from bullies. _(Though, that was partly true, considering the fact that your father was mostly the one who defended Howard.)_

You freeze, face twisting in a little bit of pain as the last of your stomach ache wracks your body. The effects of eating the chicken hit hard in the first few days, but luckily, it was starting to wear off. You guessed by next week - or tomorrow, Saturday - that you’d be better. Robert takes in your expression, furrowing his brows.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Fine,” you nod. “Just ate something bad, y’know?”

He nods, and pulls you closer to him - blissfully unaware that you had been through so much shit these past couple of days. You hoped that the holidays would be forgiving, or New Year’s. What bothered you the most was that It was probably enjoying your torment, probably planning another time for you to stumble into its trap again.

Maybe It was watching you right now. Maybe it was feasting on the remains of those three teenagers; maybe they would be enough to satisfy it enough to not bother you for a while. Since those three were a “threat” to you you supposed that it cared less about their well-being.

Morbidly, you couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's everyone! Personally, for me, I've never found new year's exciting, until I realized how much me - and my circumstances - have changed within these past few months. Sometimes, I still miss _him,_ but what he did wasn't good (no matter how many times I think that he was the best; the kindest, nothing can change what he did). It's crazy to think how much that "special someone" can change you so much, and leave such a large impact.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! I caught a bit of the flu atm, but I'll try to update as often as I can!


	15. Derry II: The Taheens (Old Friends) I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The man mutters a single word: "Breaker.”_

_I wanna be with you till the sun rises_  
_In your eyes, in your eyes, in your eyes_  
\- Sonn, Ayelle, “Lights Out”

* * *

Robert wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast.

He wakes up earlier than normal, because today is a special today; well, for him it was special. It used to be the 15th of December, but now that special day is the _28th_ of December. Their birthday. His _darling’s_ birthday. And he, Robert Gray, was going to make sure that they had the best day ever today. He even went as far as to buy multiple things for them, and knowing him - he’d buy every world in existence, and more, for them.

But sadly, the most he could do was purchase a cake, a few items, and wrapped them up as soon as they fell asleep the night prior. Once Robert makes his way to the kitchen, he rolls up the sleeves of his turtleneck and heads for the fridge to bring out all sorts of food items. _(His eyes catch the empty tupperware, wondering who ate his darling’s portion of steak when he made it a few days ago.)_ He planned on making an “American Breakfast” for them; he’d save the cake for tonight.

He starts off by whisking the batter for the pancakes, bringing out three plastic packages containing strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries. Grabbing a small handful from each package, he tosses them in a bowl and begins to clean them in the sink, humming a quiet tune as he does this. He skips out on the potatoes, not wanting to overdo it (as much as he wanted to smother his _darling_ with all of his love and affection, he didn’t want to overwhelm them); and puts his focus on cutting some leek and mixing it with whisked eggs.

There’s two pans out on the stove, one for the pancakes and the other for the eggs. The smell of the butter sizzling against the pan makes Robert’s stomach growl with hunger, but he pushes it away with the intention of only pleasing his _darling._ He’ll take care of them first, as always. They had been exhausted ever since they came back from their trip, and he felt bad that he couldn’t really help on the situation - he only wanted the best for them.

When he’s done cooking breakfast, he plates it on a large dish; pouring the syrup over the pancakes, and sprinkling freshly-cut berries over the food. He settles with a mug of coffee for them, fitting for the cold weather outside, and makes his way back up the stairs again. By the time he’s back, they’re slightly stirring from sleep, yawning and stretching in a way that makes Robert’s heart soar. They looked so adorable like this; too precious for any other eyes to see.

He sets the plates of food on his desk, briefly checking Maturin’s tank before sauntering over to his _darling’s_ side of the bed. He reaches over and presses a comforting arm around their chest, pulling them flush to his own. “Morning,” he murmurs, low into their ear. He feels a delicate hand wrap around the base of his forearm, squeezing it gently.

“Good morning,” they reply softly, head lolling back.

Robert enjoys the faint whisper in their voice, making a sing-song tone that sounds like literal _music_ to his ears. He crawls over their body, shifting under the covers so that he can hold them properly. It’s moments like these where he forgets about everything - about himself, about the past...It’s times like these where Robert nearly believes that he’s been a person all his life; that he’s done nothing wrong.

This is life.

 _His_ perfect life.

He loses the breath in his lungs when his _darling_ reaches out to him, clasping a tentative hand over his - giving him a smile. _(It’s moments like these where Robert forgets all of the wrong that he has done to them.)_ He lifts up their joined hands, pressing a soft kiss on the back of their hand. He shuffles closer to them, snaking a hand behind their head to mess with their roots. His smile widens when they let out a relaxed noise, leaning back into his touch.

“Smells good,” they murmur. “Did you make breakfast?”

“I did,” Robert replies. “Just for you. Today’s a special day, isn’t it?”

“It is?...Oh. My birthday, right?”

“Mhm,” he nods. “You’re twenty-three now, right?”

“I don’t feel twenty-three,” they huff. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Neither,” Robert answers. “You’re just...you.”

They snuggle closer to Robert, lifting a leg over his hip so that their legs were intertwined with his. They lean forward and kiss him on the lips, once, twice - and then pulls away to kiss him on the neck. “You’re wonderful,” they murmur in between kisses. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me, Robert...I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

His heart flutters, and he can’t help but nod. It’s worth it, hearing them say this. Even if he’s had to rip their previous happiness in the previous life, and replace Victor’s presence with his own. It’s worth being here, even if he’s ruined several lives just to get here. So what? Those _Losers_ deserved what was coming to them. It was their fault that he was unable to be with his _darling._

It was always their fault.

Robert was never in the wrong.

* * *

You were having the best birthday ever.

Waking up to kisses from Robert? Breakfast in bed? Making love to Robert? Finishing your morning off with a bath lit with candles waiting for you after? You couldn’t ask for anything more, especially after receiving a call from your uncle, celebrating your birthday. His wife and children also greeted you, and you took that time to introduce Robert (finally) to them. He was met with support from your aunt-in-law, and your cousins, while Howard was less than enthusiastic about it all.

“Make sure you take care of them,” you heard him order Robert. “They’re all I have left of my brother.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure that they’re always happy,” a pause, “...sir.”

Silence on the other end, and then: “Good.”

And then Howard went back to talking to you, before promptly hanging up. That was all you needed to be satisfied, especially when you felt more than happy to snuggle and recover. The following days were _hard,_ more so when you didn’t receive any word from Pennywise.

Why did It bring you home? What were its plans? Why did it avoid your questions? You decided against going out to confronting It - if it wanted to talk to you, then it would’ve done so. You wanted It out of your life, and you took such moments like these eagerly. Who knows when It’ll come back to torment you again?

The questions were pushed away, once more.

For the rest of the day, you were taken throughout town by Robert.

Clad in winter attire, hands holding his, you found yourself enjoying the laughter of children as you passed by them at the park. _(How could you not be happy? You were the one who had given these children a life by agreeing to It’s deal?)_ Robert still looked more or less bothered by the sight of kids, but he made no comment to ruin your day. Instead, he took you from the park - to a fancy restaurant in the outskirts of town.

The _Oiseau de Nuit_ was a restaurant that Robert seemed familiar with, and you had only been there one time, but the food was amazing (the service could definitely be improved, however). He was able to get you a private seat in the back: a booth that was lowly-lit and serene, with soft music playing in the background. Robert was seated across from you, his chin resting in his hands and the dopiest smile you have ever seen on him.

“What?” you ask, lips pulling into a smile.

“Just admiring the view,” Robert replies. “You’re beautiful.”

You blush, turning away and covering your mouth with your hand. You could say the same for Robert, honestly. If he wasn’t breathtakingly attractive already, the soft neon blues contrasted over one side of his face - his hair lit a soft gold from the yellow lights above.

He looks like a work of _art._

“How am I gonna impress you on your birthday?” you joke. “You really outdid yourself Robert.”

“Being with you is all I need,” he says. And then, he leans forward to hold one of your hands, with you mimicking his movements so that both of your foreheads were touching. You gaze into each others’ eyes, heart racing at the impossibly close proximity. “You are the greatest gift I have ever been given,” he continues, softly. “What I’m doing, I’m doing it for you. I want you to make you as happy as you make me feel. I love you, and I always will.”

“Robert,” you breathe, eyes widening. “I love you too.”

Robert smiles so wide, that you can see his perfect teeth, his grip on your hand tightening. He takes this as his cue to lean even closer, and you finish it off by kissing him on the lips. It’s a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart race and your mind fill with love-soaked cotton. It always feels as if you’re the only two people in the world, and that every bad thing that has happened to you has washed away. There’s no words to truly describe how you feel - it’s an indescribable sensation that satisfies your crave for normalcy.

You share one more, _two_ more kisses, and you’re pulling away just as the waiter comes back with your food. However, upon looking at the individual who has come to your table, you’re met with a different sight; one that you haven’t seen in a long time. While Robert bristles beside you, you can only gape (mind still high from passion) at the _two_ people heading to your table. You’re met with the sight of two men, Howard’s age, with one of them clad in a suit and tie - with the other clad in strangely _hip_ attire.

The more “professional” of the two is a man with champagne-colored honey brown hair, with black eyes but a hardy gaze. The other is man with cropped black hair, and amber eyes. Both are greying with silver in their hair, and both of them are individuals who look eerily similar; but you can’t pinpoint _where_ you’ve seen them.

“Can we help you?” you ask, unlinking your hand from Robert’s.

“We just wanted to say hi,” the one with amber eyes says. “To the birthday girl.”

“Actually,” the other interrupts. “We’re here to check in on you.”

He pauses, sending a look towards Robert. “We haven’t seen you in ages," and then he pauses again, leaning forward so that he was muttering in your ear. He speaks low enough that only you and the other man can hear, with Robert looking to you in question. The man mutters a single word: "Breaker.”

_Breaker._

It’s a nickname that _you_ haven’t heard in ages. And in the deep recesses of your memory, you only know two people who have called you that. Your eyes widen and you nearly jump in your seat at the realization, letting out a soft gasp. “Oh my god,” you say. “Is that really you?”

To say that you didn’t recognize them was an understatement. The last time you had seen them, was when you were a child - and they both looked more animal that human back then. Now that you thought about it, their clothing styles have never changed. Conway still wore that three-piece suit, while Durham (despite his age; though, you truly have no idea how old both of them are) looks more youthful with his letterman jacket and dark jeans. Conway merely nods, while Durham looks like an eager dog - pun unintended - upon seeing you.

“It is,” Durham answers, letting out a soft laugh. “Time sure does fly, doesn’t it?”

“I - ” you pause, turning to Robert, who has a strangely mute expression on his face. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and he’s fiddling with his utensils, but you’re too excited to notice the hints. “Robert,” you smile, taking his arm. “This is... _Derek,_ and _Calvin._ They used to be my...caretakers, when I was a child.”

Robert nods and turns to them, giving them both a weak smile. _Is he okay?_ Even stranger, he doesn’t speak and instead settles on his phone, averting his gaze. You’re taken aback by his mannerisms right now, but make no comment of it. Robert never liked it when you talked about people in your life, and it must’ve been awkward for him to talk to two people he’s never met - let alone that they’re old, and you only knew them as a child.

On instinct, you climb out of the booth and engulf Durham in a hug - relishing the feeling. It’s such a foreign but familiar sensation, hugging him. It feels like you’re hugging your father again, which wasn’t too far off from the truth. Durham has always considered you to be like a child to him. Conway was true to his nature, being curt and blunt about his intentions; and he was someone you found it hard to build relations with. 

When you pull away from the hug, Robert does something unexpected. He leaves his own seat to stand straighter, taller - with how tall Durham and Conway were, it was impossible for Robert to look taller than them - but brings his hand out. His lips are pulled into a thin line, and you could practically _feel_ the sourness on him.

“Robert Gray,” he introduces. “It’s...a pleasure meeting you two.”

“Derek Monroe,” Durham says, using your fake name for him. “And well,” he points to Conway after he’s done shaking hands with Robert. “This is my friend - ” Conway interrupts, _“Associate.”_ “My _friend,_ Calvin Kennedy.”

“So, what are you guys doing in town?” you butt in.

“Like I said,” Conway shrugs. “We’re here to check up on you, and...there’s something we need to talk to you about.”

Robert bristles again at this, and as you’re taking your seat back in the booth you side-eye him. You’d have to talk to him later, after you’re done talking to these two _after_ dinner. It came as a shock to see them, but you’ve seen It too.

Of course your “imaginary friends” weren’t so imaginary after all.

“Can we talk about this later?” you ask, sighing.

Not knowing the true nature of these two, you had a feeling that their conversation with you would turn out less than happy. They were kind to you, true that you only knew them for a year, but their existence was supernatural. And maybe, you could get answers out of them. About yourself, and maybe It too - since they were both adamant on not staying in Derry while they were watching you.

If they were afraid right now, they were good at hiding it.

“It’s urgent,” Conway says. “We can’t waste our time.”

“If it’s so important, then why don’t you just say it here?”

Robert’s voice cuts through the conversation like a knife, prompting you to turn to him worriedly. His tone is cold, and reminds you of when It pretended to be him - and you can’t help the panic that races in your heart. You shuffle in your seat, closer to Robert, and gently hold his arm.

“Its okay, sweetheart,” you coax. “This is just...a family matter.” You turn to the two. “Is tomorrow okay?”

Both _men_ grow uncomfortable at this, but Durham - who acted more human than creature - nods enthusiastically with a beaming smile. “It’s no problem kid,” he shrugs. “Ol’ Con... _Calvin_ here is just a grumpy ass, isn’t he?”

Conway rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he narrows his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, turning on his heel with Durham following him out of the restaurant. An awkward silence fills in between you and Robert, with you turning to him with a worried look on your face. “I’m so, _so_ sorry about that,” you mutter. “If I would’ve known that they were coming here, I would’ve told you.”

“They’re weird,” he replies. “I don’t like them.”

You avert your gaze “They’re not bad people, Robert. Trust me.”

Truth be told, you don’t know if that’s the right thing to say. Sure, Conway told you that his and Durham’s presence was to “protect and watch over you”, but that has been a long time ago; and they had been gone a considerable amount of time. You also had no idea who sent them to watch over you as a child, and why they came back now. _Did this have to do with It?_ Plenty of questions began spinning in your mind, but you could only focus on a handful.

Robert sighs, nodding. “I _do_ trust you,” he says. “It’s just...weird, y’know?”

“I know,” you nod.

Thankfully to avoid further questions, the waiter finally comes to your table with your food.

* * *

“We are wasting time by doing this. Waiting.”

“So? Can’t you see? They’re having a good time. They’re smiling. _Happy.”_

“I only care about the fate of my family.”

“Yeah?” Durham snorts, warm puffs of air escaping through a dark muzzle. No longer has he taken on the form of a man, but his true self - a man with a wolf’s head peppered with white and brown fur - still wearing the same clothes; only, he’s much bigger and taller than before. Conway is the same, taking on the form of a man with a pigeon’s head. The former continues, “Well, they’re _my_ family too. Don’t I have a say in this all?”

“You have formed an unnecessary attachment to them,” Conway states. “You’re lucky that the _King_ is dead. I would’ve gladly relished in seeing your head on a pike at his throne.”

“I _stand true,”_ Durham barks, literally. “At least I _tried_ protecting their parents.”

“Tried,” Conway retorts. “And only brought us more trouble when you failed.”

“At least it got my ch...the child to leave Derry.”

“That I can agree with.”

“See Conway? I know what I’m - ”

“And by the way, it’s not ‘the child’. They’re called the _Breaker.”_

“Not yet,” Durham argues, shaking his head. An uncomfortable air fills between the two as Durham says this, his voice lilting into a hushed whisper - as if he was afraid that someone was going to hear. “That’s why we’re here though, right? To make sure that never happens?”

Conway nods. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! Sorry for the lack of updates, again! I've been caught up with my other stories, esp. with one I've been updating a lot recently on this sight - but I'm much better now, thankfully, and should be getting into the regular schedule next week. Anyways, tell me your thoughts and questions about this chapter! Newer readers, feel free to ask as many questions as you want!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  \- stand true: to be [true] to your mission/ideals.


	16. update

I honestly don’t have a grand explanation for you guys, other the fact that I completely forgot about this story haha. I’m sorry for keeping you guys waiting, but I’ll bring the update up sometime this month (no guarantees though). If not, I may or may not end up re-writing the story and scrapping this one—if I do, I may or may not change the reader. It’s up to you guys.

Would you prefer adult!reader, or bring back the reader from Part 1?

Again, sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long. Once I get the answers from you, I can guarantee more updates/longer chapters!

Thank you for your patience. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always greatly appreciated!  
> Let me know what you think! <3


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